


Cheating Death

by HanksLady



Category: Bron | Broen | The Bridge, Innan vi dör | Before We Die (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanksLady/pseuds/HanksLady
Summary: While trying to make money fast to pay off his mortgage and separate from his wife, Petter inadvertently and indirectly causes Daniel's death. But all is not what it seems and Daniel seems to have the luck of a cat when it comes to life. Despite his reservations, Petter finds himself wanting Daniel in his life. Slash Petter/Daniel, Petter POV, rated for sex, drugs, etc.
Relationships: Petter Hill / Daniel Ferbe
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

I opened my eyes to bright daylight and immediately squeezed them shut again. A hand rested on the right side of my chest, warm through my tee shirt, and the weight of a head pinned my bicep to the mattress. Soft hair tickled my cheek and I felt warm breath on my neck. What the hell?

Things weren't as they seemed. The last twelve or so hours replayed in my head as if I were watching from outside. I should have been back in Stockholm by now, but here I was, over six hundred kilometres away in Malmo, in bed with a man I'd unintentionally almost killed. I bit back the groan that threatened to burst from me as I remembered arriving in the city on Friday evening and heading into the first nightclub I found.

The place hadn't been too welcoming. They had a dress code and didn't appreciate a leather-clad thug with the sides of his head shaved and a tattoo visible on the back of his neck. I barely made any sales before I took off and looked for somewhere more promising.

Two hours later my pockets were empty, and my wallet was stuffed with cash. I stood at the bar sipping a beer, planning to have just one drink, then find a motel for the night. I still had a stash of gear in the car to get rid of on Saturday before driving home. I gazed around at the dancers, hating the techno music and bright flashing lights. I despised this kind of place, but it was ideal for shifting product fast.

One of my customers at the other end of the bar passed pills around to three friends—two girls and a guy. They were all having a good time, shouting to each other above the music and laughing. Then they hit the dancefloor. Something about the second guy in the group held my attention and I watched him dance. His dirty blond hair was cut in a modern style, and he wore a long-sleeved tee shirt, dress pants, and a scarf. He had a slim build but looked well-toned. Unsure what I found so interesting, I turned away. I would be leaving soon. Only a couple of mouthfuls of beer remained in my glass, then I would be on the road.

I finished the beer and made my way around the edge of the dancefloor towards the exit, but a commotion amongst the dancers caught my eye and I paused. Shit. The young guy I'd noticed had collapsed, and several people crouched around him, one girl holding a mobile phone to her ear. I hesitated for a second, then elbowed my way through the crowd and dropped to one knee next to his body.

"He's unconscious," one girl said to anyone who was listening. "My friend's calling an ambulance."

The three people I'd thought were the young man's friends, including the guy I'd sold the pills to, were nowhere to be seen. Some friends. "Let's get him out of here," I said. Guilt gnawed at my stomach and my heart raced. This was my fault.

I slid my hands under his armpits and lifted his upper body. Immediately two other people picked up his legs and helped me carry him out of the club to the lobby, where we laid him on a wide padded seat. I rolled him into the recovery position and sat on the bench by his head. The guy and the girl who had helped me stared at me warily.

"I've got this. Get back to your dancing," I told them. They quickly disappeared.

"What happened?" One of the bouncers from the door came over to me and stared down at my victim.

"I don't know. I think he took something." I shrugged nonchalantly.

"You a friend?"

"Acquaintance."

The bouncer shook his head. "We get this in here from time to time. Fucking idiots popping pills. Did you call an ambulance?"

"Someone else did." At my words, the distant scream of a siren could be heard. The bouncer went back to his position at the door. I got up and went to the cloakroom counter. "Do you know if he had a coat or anything?" I asked, pointing at the prone figure on the bench.

"Yes, hold on." A moment later, the young woman passed me a checked overcoat. "Is he okay?"

"Will be. Ambulance is coming."

The sirens grew louder, and blue flashing lights appeared outside the door. Paramedics came in with a stretcher. I stood out of the way and watched wordlessly as they checked over the guy.

"Are you his friend?" one of them asked me.

I nodded.

"What's his name?"

I opened my mouth, about to answer that I didn't know, when the cloakroom girl called out, "Daniel Ferbe."

"Yeah, Daniel," I confirmed.

"Has he taken something?" the paramedic asked.

"Yes, some pills. I think they were Ecstasy. A few people had some."

"What about you?"

I shook my head. "I don't do drugs."

"At least you have some sense. Are you coming with us?" They already had a drip hooked up to the young man—Daniel—and were lifting him onto the stretcher.

"Um—" I owed it to him, I supposed. I was responsible for him having to go to the hospital. It was just beginning to dawn on me what I was doing. How many more people had bought pills, or coke, or some other shit from me and ended up like this? On their way to the hospital, unconscious, dead maybe. I needed to know he was okay, or I'd never forgive myself. "Yes, I'm coming."

I sat in the back of the ambulance, keeping out of the way of the paramedic as he checked Daniel's eyes, blood pressure, and various other things. Daniel had an oxygen mask over his face, a heart monitor clipped to his finger, and a saline drip in his arm. I clutched his coat, feeling like shit. Then things got worse. The heart monitor stuttered and began to issue one long unbroken beep.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"Pull over!" the paramedic yelled at his companion. The ambulance stopped, and a moment later the driver opened the back door and climbed in.

"Move!" he barked at me.

I shifted into a corner, suddenly terrified. Daniel's heart had stopped. I watched, wide-eyed, as the two paramedics worked—CPR first, then using a defibrillator. The unbroken beep went on and on. He was dead. He took drugs I supplied, and he was dead. I was a murderer. My hands shook and I clenched them tighter around the checked coat. What if he had family? What if that was me and the cops had to speak to Monica and my kids and tell them their dad overdosed?

"Fucking hell," I muttered. "Come on, Daniel."

I didn't know how much time passed, but it seemed endless. Then suddenly the heart monitor went back to its regular beeping, and both paramedics sighed with relief. "He's okay," the driver said, and left his companion to go back to driving to the hospital. I let out the breath I'd been holding and ran a hand over my face.

Minutes later we arrived at the emergency department. The paramedics handed Daniel over to hospital staff and left on another call. When I could only give the nurse who asked Daniel's name, she checked his pockets and found a wallet containing ID. Then he was wheeled away to a cubicle and I was told to stay in the waiting area.

Hours passed. I paced around and drank several cups of disgusting hospital coffee. Finally, around six in the morning, I was invited to see Daniel. He was still in a cubicle. They hadn't bothered to put him in a ward, but he was awake and looking like hell. His pale face seemed translucent, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with purple shadows.

"The doctor will release him in about an hour," the nurse told me. "On the condition that he has someone with him during the next twelve hours."

I nodded and sat on the single chair beside the cubicle bed. Daniel turned his head to look at me and frowned. "Do I know you?"

"No. I came here in the ambulance with you."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I—" I glanced around me to check no one, least of all hospital staff, were within hearing distance. "I sold your friend the fucking pills that put you in here."

He blinked. "A dealer with a conscience?"

"Apparently."

"You don't have to hang around. I can call someone."

"Who? The friend who gave you that shit?"

"He's not really a friend. I have a colleague I can call."

"Don't you have family, or proper friends?"

"No." He slid a hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a Smartphone.

"Do you really want to tell a colleague that—?"

He sighed and shook his head.

"I'll stay. I left my car near the club. I'll get it and come back," I said.

"Why?"

"Because it's my fault." I avoided his eyes. "You could have died."

"I did. I was dead for two minutes and thirty-three seconds." Surprisingly, Daniel's lips twitched at the corners.

"You think it's funny?"

"Just ironic. Do you ever think about changing your career?"

"All the time."

"But you haven't."

"Not yet. I plan to. I'll get my car." I got up. "Don't go anywhere."

Daniel snorted. "Where would I go? They won't let me out without a chaperone."

I strode out of the hospital, quickly found a taxi, and had it drive me to where I'd left my truck. Within half an hour I was back, waiting for the doctor to sign Daniel's release papers. Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, his coat on, hands dangling between his knees. The doctor left and Daniel got to his feet.

"You came back," he said, as we walked slowly towards the exit.

"I said I would."

"People say things all the time." He cleared his throat. "I don't even know your name."

"Petter," I said. "Hill."

"Where are you from?"

"Stockholm."

"Long way to come to sell, um, stuff."

"Yeah. I have competition and I wanted to make some money quickly. It's this one." I gestured to my Silverado and unlocked it. Daniel climbed into the passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt. I got in and started the engine. "Where are we going?"

"Turn left out of here and keep going for about two kilometres."

"Okay." I began to drive. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. I slept through it."

"Was it your first time?"

"First time what? Taking drugs, or dying?" He huffed out a soft laugh. "No, and yes. But I took more last night, and I was drinking alcohol instead of water. Stupid, I know."

I shook my head.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" I glanced at him, then back at the road.

"Do you use your own shit?"

"No. Never. I'd never make any money."

"There are other ways to make money, you know."

"I know that. I run a bike repair shop." I wondered why I was telling him this. I never talked, not even to people I knew well. "I've been doing this to pay off my mortgage."

"Don't bike repairs make much money?"

I sighed. "I'm getting divorced. I wanted to pay the house off quickly, so my wife won't have to worry about it."

"Oh. How long have you been married?"

"Ten years."

"Kids?"

"Two boys."

"Must be tough," Daniel said.

"Yeah. What about you? You said you don't have family or friends."

"I don't. I have a colleague I guess I could call a friend. Ake."

"No girlfriend?"

"I don't do relationships."

"What work do you do?" I asked.

"I'm a journalist."

"Which paper?"

"Aftonposten."

I grinned. "Tabloid journalist. Nice. Better watch what I say."

"Your secret's safe with me."

"What secret?"

He glanced at me and rolled his eyes. "Drug dealer?"

I shook my head. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You didn't force the pills down my throat. I'm an idiot. I'm not going to do it again."

"What? Take drugs, or overdose?"

"Either. I'm sticking with alcohol in the future. Maybe cigarettes. Do you smoke? I could really use one right now." He felt his coat pockets and pulled out a crumpled pack and a lighter. "Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind and no, I don't smoke. Open the window."

"Sorry, I'll just wait." He put them away again. "So, why are you getting divorced?"

I frowned.

"Too personal? I'm sorry. Journalist."

"We don't love each other anymore," I said. "Nothing more exciting than that. Am I going the right way?"

"Oh, yes. Next left, then right. There should be space to park at the side of the street."

I turned left, then right, and spotted a space behind a black Cadillac Escalade.

"That's my car," Daniel said, indicating the Escalade. He climbed out of the truck and walked to a nearby building. I locked the truck and followed, remembering he wasn't supposed to be left alone for twelve hours. "You don't have to stay," he told me as he keyed a number into the pad beside the door.

"Yes, I do. Twelve hours, they said. If I leave, how will I know you won't die again?"

"I just want to sleep. I'm fine."

"Then sleep. I'll wait." I followed him into the lift.

"You really do have a conscience." He smiled and met my eyes. His were grey, a similar shade to my own.

"Yeah. Not really in keeping with my image."

"What's the tattoo? On your neck."

"A phoenix. It's my motorcycle gang symbol."

He nodded and stepped out of the lift. We walked down a corridor and he unlocked the door at the end. Behind it was a bright apartment with lots of large windows, and clutter everywhere. We walked through a kitchen towards a lounge room.

"There's food in the fridge, coffee and stuff, help yourself," Daniel said. "I think I'm going to be—" He broke into a run, disappeared through another door, and slammed it behind him. I heard him throwing up, then a toilet flushed.

I took off my green bike jacket and laid it over the arm of the short leather couch. A minute later, Daniel emerged looking paler and sicker than before.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I need to lie down." He walked into another room. I followed and hovered in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as he took off his coat, scarf, and shoes, and lay down at one side of the bed, still wearing the rest of his clothes.

I went back to the kitchen, ran a glass of water, and took it to him. "You'd better drink this."

"Thanks." He propped himself up a little, drank the water, then lay back down. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"Oh, now you want my company?"

"Yeah. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be in the other room." I retreated to the lounge room, sat down, and pulled out my phone to text Monica.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter learns that Daniel's overdose wasn't the first time he had a near death experience, and he finds himself very reluctant to leave

About an hour later I began to yawn. I'd been up all night and I wouldn't be able to leave for hours yet, then I'd be on the road for six hours. I needed to sleep.

Daniel's couch was neither long enough, nor comfortable enough to sleep on. After thinking about it for a minute, I took off my boots and went back into the bedroom. He was fast asleep, curled up on one side on top of the bed covers. Carefully, I lowered myself onto the vacant half of the bed and folded my hands behind my head. I'd just get a couple of hours' sleep and I'd be fine. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I sensed I'd been asleep a lot longer than a couple of hours, and Daniel was snuggling against me, his head on my bicep and his hand on my chest.

I stretched my arm out and flexed my fingers to get rid of the numbness. Daniel stirred a little, sighed softly, and nestled closer. The hand on my chest slid up to my neck, and his fingers curled around the nape under my hair. I stiffened, ready to push him away. He was asleep and unaware of what he was doing, but it still made me nervous. It reminded me of something that happened a long time ago.

I'd been nineteen—shit, almost twenty years ago. I went to a bike rally with a friend who was a couple of years older than me. There were hundreds of bikers, live music, beer, and fast food. We took a tent and camped in a muddy field with hundreds of others. Some couples could be heard screwing, unconcerned about what their neighbours thought. I'd had too much beer. I hadn't had much opportunity to try it, and three or four bottles had me pretty drunk. Torgny and I crawled into the tent as it began to rain.

"Pull my boots off, Petter." Torgny sat down and shoved one booted foot in my direction. I obliged, then sat down to attend to my own. Mine had laces and I couldn't untangle them in my tipsy state. Torgny helped me out. I collapsed back onto my sleeping bag, laughing as he tugged at one boot and dragged me along the floor of the tent. I was still laughing when he tossed my boots aside and started pulling my leather pants down.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I slurred.

"You're not seriously thinking about sleeping in your leathers." He tugged them off and lay down next to me. He huffed and swore as he struggled out of his own clothes, throwing items across the tent until he had only his underwear on. I pretended not to notice his erection sticking out of the front of his boxers.

I rubbed a hand over my face, not wanting to think about the rest of the events that night, but they continued to play out in my head. Torgny sucked me off and I enjoyed it. I came in his mouth, and when he asked me to jerk him off, I was happy to do it. When he finished, he rolled over and kissed me on the mouth. I liked that, too. We fell asleep with our arms around each other. Hours later I opened my eyes to find Torgny's face just inches from mine. I didn't move or breathe as I remembered what we'd done. Then he woke and his eyes widened in shock. He jerked away and sat up. "Get the fuck away from me, you fucking queer!" he hissed.

I stared at him, stunned. I hadn't done anything. He took my pants off and sucked me. He asked me to touch him. He kissed me. And now I was to blame for it?

"Don't look at me like that, faggot. You make me sick." He put his clothes on and bolted from the tent. Minutes later I heard his bike start up. When I crawled outside, he was gone, leaving me to pack everything up, tie the equipment to my bike, and ride home alone. I tried calling him a week later, and he hung up on me. I never saw him again.

I glanced at Daniel, curled against me. Was he gay? Or would he wake up and call me a faggot for lying down on his bed? My jaw clicked as I ground my teeth together. I sat up, dragging my arm out from under him. He woke immediately and stared up at me, seeming puzzled.

"Petter?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I just wanted to rest for a couple of hours. I have a long drive home."

"It's fine. I'm sorry if I sprawled all over you." He flushed and looked away.

I glanced at him, unsure what to say. I wanted to know one way or the other but if I just told him it was okay, maybe I'd look as if I was coming onto him. I was useless at this. The one experience I'd had with a guy had finished in rejection and I hadn't wanted to try it again because of that. I'd had a few casual things with girls afterwards, then I met Monica in my mid-twenties.

I shrugged and frowned. "I don't care," I grunted.

"Oh." I watched from the corner of my eye as he turned to stare at me again. "I guess I should have told you when you asked if I had a girlfriend. I'm gay. It's not a secret. Everyone who knows me knows that."

"It's okay." I relaxed. "It's fine."

"Are you sure? Because you look angry."

"I'm not." I sank back onto the pillows again. "Everything's cool. You should get some more sleep."

"Are you staying?"

"Yeah." I glanced at a clock on the wall, which told me I'd been asleep three hours. "You can't be alone yet."

His lips twitched a little.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just glad you're staying, that's all." He turned away from me and buried his face in the pillow.

I didn't think I would sleep anymore, but when I opened my eyes again, two more hours had passed. Daniel was still sleeping, his back resting against my side. He must have shuffled nearer to me again. I went back over our last conversation in my head and wondered why he had told me he was gay. Had he hoped that because I lay down with him, I was interested in him? Was I?

"Don't be a moron," I muttered aloud. I had no intention of starting to question my sexuality at this point in my life. Maybe if Torgny hadn't treated me the way he had, things could have been different. I knew I wasn't gay. I'd always liked girls. But maybe I would have liked both. Or perhaps it was just a one-off, an experiment. I'd had a few beers and it had been unexpected. I was a young horny guy, and anyone's hand or mouth would have done. What if it hadn't been Torgny? A man who woke up sober and apparently freaked out about what happened. What if it had been Daniel in that tent? What if—?

Daniel stirred and moved a little, his arse bumping against my hip. He didn't wake.

What if he rolled over right now and kissed me, or put his hands on me? What would I do? Despite my determination not to think about it, I couldn't stop thinking about it. My dick plumped up a little and I cursed my tight leather pants. I found myself wanting him to turn over and snuggle against me the way he had earlier. I remembered the feel of his hand curling around my neck, warm breath on my skin. His head had rested on my bicep and I jerked my arm out from under him. What if I had wrapped it around him instead?

I inched away from him and sat up, my heart pounding. I needed to get out of here and get on the road. It was a long fucking drive home, and my stupid fantasies weren't going to make things any more pleasurable.

Daniel didn't wake as I slipped out of the room and went to use the bathroom. I put my boots back on, made some coffee, and helped myself to some cold pizza. By the time I'd finished with that, I had managed to shake myself free of my thoughts. The only thing on my mind was getting home and paying the wad of cash I had off the mortgage. There was almost enough to clear it.

"Hey." Daniel appeared in the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He poured some coffee and sipped it. "I owe you."

"No, you don't. I'm the reason that happened to you."

He shook his head. "If it hadn't been you it would have been somebody else. Bjorn always has something."

"That's your friend? Acquaintance?"

"Yeah."

"Were you serious about not using anymore?" I asked.

"Yes. I don't want to go through that again. It was the second time I've cheated death. I don't want to risk a third." He took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of a drawer. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"No. What did you mean about cheating death twice? Did you overdose before?"

He lit up and took a long drag. "Hell, no. That would make me a fucking idiot. Do you read Aftonposten at all?"

"No, I don't read the papers much. I watch the TV news sometimes but not lately."

"Okay. So maybe you haven't heard about the serial killer in Malmo?"

"I heard there had been some killings. The first one was two women, right? Cut in half and two mismatched halves placed on Oresund Bridge?"

"That's right." Daniel drew on the cigarette again and blew the smoke out of his nose. "There were others after that. The police haven't caught the killer yet, but he's in touch with me."

"What?" My eyebrows lifted.

"He calls me on the phone and sends me information linked to why he's doing this."

"You're serious. You talk to him on the phone? Do the cops know?"

"Yeah, they know. I send them the information I get. The point is that he did something to get my attention first. The intention wasn't to kill me, but I thought at the time that's what would happen. I got in my car and when I tried to start the engine, everything locked. The doors, the windows, and the electrics cut out. I couldn't do anything and there was a bomb in the backseat."

"Fuck!" I put my coffee cup down before I dropped it. "How did you get out?"

"I called the police, and they brought the bomb squad, but they couldn't get me out. The timer was counting down the last minute and they walked away to save themselves. This policewoman called me on my mobile. Saga Noren. She talked to me through the last few seconds and I thought it was over. But it reached zero and the clock turned off. Everything unlocked and that was it."

"Fucking hell!"

Daniel smiled. "The next day he called me. Apparently, the bomb was a threat. Do what I'm asking, or next time it will be a real one. Every time I get in the fucking car now, I have a moment of panic."

"Are they anywhere near catching him?" I asked, horrified.

"Not yet. He's clever." Daniel ground out the remains of the cigarette in a half full ashtray. "Aftonposten has a website if you want to read about it."

"I'll do that." I felt reluctant to leave, as if my presence would be of some sort of help. The thought of Daniel being in touch with a serial killer shocked me, and I couldn't imagine how he must have felt when he found himself locked in his car with a bomb.

"I know you have to go." He grinned. "Thanks for last night."

"If you thank me again, I swear to God—"

He interrupted me with a laugh. "I meant for staying with me. I don't think Ake would have been too impressed if I had to call him. He thinks I'm an idiot as it is."

We stared at each other for a moment, then I found my jacket and put it on. I had no more excuses to hang around. I made for the door. "Long drive," I muttered.

"Petter?" Daniel paused and licked his lips. "Can I have your number?"

"What for?"

"Just in case. I don't know. I don't have anyone else to call." He shoved his hands into his pockets and avoided looking at me.

"I suppose." I spotted some paper and a pen on a corner of the kitchen counter and wrote my mobile phone number on it. For some reason, a small spark of excitement made my hand shake. I found my keys and headed for the door again. "Take care of yourself, Daniel."

"Thanks, you too."

I didn't look back as I walked away, and minutes later I was in my truck heading for the outskirts of Malmo. It didn't seem to matter how much I tried to talk myself out of it as I drove. I knew the first thing I would do when I got home, no matter how late it was, would be to switch on my laptop and look at Aftonposten's website. And I'd hope that something would give him a reason to call me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter gets rid of the last of his supply on the way home, and finds a new place to live

After a couple of hours on the road, I stopped for fuel and food. It was only then that I remembered I had half of my coke supply still in the glovebox of the truck. I'd intended to spend two days in Malmo but after what happened to Daniel it had completely slipped my mind. I already had enough money to almost clear the mortgage, but the intention had been to make enough extra to rent an apartment for myself and buy the things I would need for it and have a safety net for Monica and the kids should they need it. Now I had a decision to make.

I had no intention of continuing dealing drugs. My conscience had got the better of me after I saw Daniel die right in front of me. I wasn't the hard arse people saw when they looked at me. I'd got into that "line of work" through the Mobsters motorcycle gang and if it hadn't been for them, I'd have simply been a bike mechanic. I'd never have had the money to buy my own workshop and start up a business—I'd have worked for somebody else. I was almost tempted to ditch the rest of the drugs, but that would be stupid. I still had around thirty thousand krona worth of product with me. I could give it to my second in command, Adam. Or I could find somewhere on the way home and try to sell it. It would be the last time.

I thought about it as I continued driving north-east, and when I saw a sign for Linkoping, I made my decision and took the turning. It was late afternoon. I could find a bar to hang out in for a while and see what opportunities the city had.

I parked outside a bar that had a number of motorcycles outside. At least I'd probably be welcome. I didn't have my Mobsters colours with me and simply looked like a biker. I strolled in and immediately a dozen pairs of eyes turned in my direction. Most of them went back to what they were doing after a few seconds and ignored me. One older bearded guy watched my progress to the bar and continued to stare as I ordered a beer. I found a small table and sat down. A few minutes later, four more guys came in with two girls, all in leathers. The bearded guy was still watching me. I stared back. What did he want? No gay guy with any sense would approach another in a bar like this so it couldn't be that.

I looked down at the table and sipped my drink. He got up and walked over. "Evening."

I lifted my head and nodded. "Hello."

"You're not from around here, are you?" He sat down without waiting to be invited.

"Just passing through."

"Where are you from?"

"Stockholm."

"You're not wearing colours."

"I don't when I'm away from home."

"Sensible." He nodded at me. "What's your gang?"

"Mobsters."

His eyes immediately showed recognition and his lips pulled up a little at one corner. "You must be Petter Hill."

"That's right." I stiffened. I didn't need any trouble. Our reputation often went before us and we'd been in the news several times recently. Ulrik was on a drugs charge right now. Previous to that he'd done time for possession of a gun, and at that point had stepped down as President and handed the position over to me.

"Sven Jonsson." The man offered me his hand and I shook it. "Do you have anything with you?"

I relaxed again. "I might have."

"On you?"

"Outside in my truck."

He lowered his voice. "How much are we talking?"

"About a hundred grammes."

Sven's eyes widened. "You looking to offload that before you leave?"

"Yeah. You interested."

"I need to make a call. Don't go away." He got up and walked out of the bar. I saw him standing outside as he made a phone call. Then he came back in and came over to my table. "Can you hang around for an hour?"

"Sure."

"What's the price?"

"Thirty thousand."

He nodded. "About average. You want another beer?"

"Thanks."

Sven got up again and went to the bar. He returned with two beers and sat down. We made small talk for a while. He worked in a bike shop too, although he didn't own it. He had four grown up kids and several grandchildren. He was the leader of a local gang called the Disciples.

Eventually, two other guys of a similar age to Sven arrived and hovered by the door. He got up and indicated I should follow. "That your truck?" Sven pointed at the Silverado.

"Yes." I unlocked it. The two guys got in the backseat and Sven climbed into the front passenger seat. I got in, too. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Drive down the street about two hundred metres and turn left. There are cameras at the front of the bar."

"Okay." I did as instructed. As I turned down the side street, I hoped I hadn't got myself into a situation I'd regret. I was a gang leader with a car full of drugs on another gang's turf. It could end badly, even though Sven seemed to want to buy what I was offering. I parked where he told me, in a dark deserted spot, turned off the ignition, and placed my hands on my thighs.

"Let's see it," Sven said.

"It's in the glovebox."

He leaned forward to open it and took out the plastic bag with numerous small, measured bags inside. He weighed it in his hands and nodded. "Magnus?"

The guy behind me shuffled around, then a hand appeared over my right shoulder with a thick wad of cash in it. I took it and a quick flick through the notes showed me they were all hundreds. It looked like enough. I nodded in response.

"Nice doing business with you, Petter." Sven shook my hand and got out of the truck. His companions followed him, and the doors slammed closed. I watched them in the rear-view mirror as they walked back the way we had come. Then I heaved a sigh of relief and started the engine. I was done with that shit, and it had been easier than I expected. I placed the money in the glovebox and got back on the road.

The kids were in bed when I got home, but Monica was up watching TV. I placed the cloth bag I'd put all the money in on the coffee table.

"How did it go?" she asked. "I wasn't expecting you home until tomorrow."

"I sold everything."

"In Malmo?"

"No. That kind of went to hell." I shrugged out of my jacket and sat down. "A guy overdosed on Ecstasy."

"Yours?"

"Yeah." I rested my elbows on my knees and hung my head. "His heart stopped in the ambulance."

"What were you doing in the ambulance?"

"Feeling guilty as fuck," I groaned. "Someone else called them but I went with him. I'm not doing this anymore, Mon."

"Petter, people die from drug overdoses every day."

"I know that!" I snapped. "But they won't do it from my drugs in the future. I'm done. I can pay off the mortgage and there'll be some left over."

Monica smiled. "I thought you'd stop sooner or later. It's not you. You're too caring. What about the Mobsters?"

"I don't know yet. I'll talk to Adam tomorrow. If they want to carry on, it's up to them. If I have to step down, I will."

"Okay. What will you do?"

"Run the shop. Do what I always wanted to be doing without the weight of having to pay the mortgage. I'll pay it off on Monday. Then I'll find somewhere to live."

Finding a new home wasn't something I was looking forward to. Rental housing in Stockholm was scarce and expensive. The only option would be a private rental—agencies had waiting lists as long as your arm.

"You know you can stay here as long as you want," Monica said.

"I know but it has to happen eventually."

"Have you met someone?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"I just wondered. Maybe you're keen to get your own space because of that."

"I haven't met anyone. I don't plan to for the moment either. Have you?"

She smiled. "No, I haven't. I have enough to think about with the kids and going back to work, without trying to meet another guy."

"Okay."

We chatted for a while longer, then went to bed in our separate rooms. Despite being tired from the drive, I lay awake for a long time and spent a while on my phone looking for accommodation. There appeared to be only one option if it hadn't already been snapped up. A two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city, around five miles from the house. It was a private rental and affordable, but it had been listed a week earlier and was probably already gone.

Eventually, I slept. When I woke again, I waited impatiently for a reasonable hour before I called the number in the ad for the apartment. An elderly man answered.

"I'm enquiring about the apartment," I said and held my breath as I waited for him to say I was too late.

"It's available two weeks from Monday," he said. "It needs some work. I've had a few people look around, but they wanted somewhere they could move in right away without needing to get workmen in. I've lived on my own a long time and I'm not very good at DIY." He laughed a little. "I lowered the price yesterday. I'm going to live with my daughter and her husband. You're welcome to come and look."

"I'd be happy to. My name's Petter Hill. I have a house, but my wife and I are separating, and I want her to keep it." Unable to believe my luck, I arranged to see the apartment that morning and counted out some of the spare cash to take with me. I wanted to be able to put a deposit down immediately if the place was even remotely suitable.

"You found somewhere?" Monica asked in surprise.

"I hope so. An old guy. He says it needs some work, but I don't care about that."

"Since when have you done any DIY? That cupboard door in the kitchen has been hanging off for a year," Monica scoffed.

"I'll fix it. Look, the place is cheap and it's available in two weeks. I can get some of the boys to help me fix it up if I have to. Otherwise, you could be stuck with me for another year."

The apartment was okay. The bedroom the old man had been using needed decorating, but other than that it was clean, and the carpet wasn't too badly worn. The second bedroom was used as a junk room and was full of dust and cobwebs with peeling flowery wallpaper. The kitchen and bathroom were desperately in need of updating, but the shower worked and the oven, washing machine, and refrigerator were all functional and being left with the apartment. The living room had no carpet or curtains, a single lightbulb dangling from a wire, and more faded and peeling wallpaper.

"It's not much," the old man said apologetically.

"It's fine," I said. "I don't mind the work. It just looks like it needs a lick of paint. Are you taking the rest of the furniture?"

"That depends on whether any of it's any use to you. I was going to scrap it. My daughter has a nice smart room waiting for me with furniture and everything."

"Why don't you just leave what you don't want?" I suggested. "I can get rid of it myself if I don't need it. I have a truck and a bunch of guys that can help."

"Are you sure? That would be a big help." He beamed, flashing toothless gums.

"Yeah, it's fine. I need a place to live and I didn't expect to find somewhere this easily."

"Look, how about this? I won't ask you for a deposit. Just pay me the first month's rent and we'll call it even. You can make the next payment in six weeks' time into my bank. I'll give you the details."

We sat down on the reasonably decent brown sofa and wrote down our details for each other. It was as simple as that. He didn't have a contract or want anyone to check me out. He was old and trusting, and I thought it was lucky he got me and not someone who would rip him off. I gave him the cash for the first month's rent, and he arranged to drop off the keys for me the day he moved out. That was all it took. Thirty minutes later I was home.

"So, Mr DIY. What was it like?" Monica teased.

"It's got flowery wallpaper like your aunt's place, mostly peeling off. The paintwork needs a new coat, and the living room needs a carpet and curtains. The bathroom and kitchen are from the forties. Other than that, it's okay. He's leaving all the furniture and kitchen appliances. I'll get Johan to do the décor." I referred to one of the Mobsters whose business was joinery and decorating. He could probably sort out the kitchen cabinets for me, too.

"So, we're really doing this. It'll seem weird not having you around after all these years."

"Damn, you make it sound like we're ninety." I snorted.

"Ten years with you and I feel like I'm ninety." She laughed and squeezed my arm. "Now fix that fucking cupboard door, will you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter moves into his new apartment and quickly realises how lonely he will be

Two weeks later I had the keys to my new home in my hand. I packed up my clothes, tools, and everything else I wanted into my truck and Monica followed me in her car to bring me back so I could collect my bikes. They were to be kept at the workshop I used for the time being. It had plenty of security on it, and various Mobsters were always hanging around there as it was our meeting place, too. We moved my two bikes one at a time and Monica dropped me back off at the apartment. I'd already spoken to Johan about the decorating and he agreed to strip the wallpaper, repair any cracks he might find underneath, and paint all the walls and woodwork. He could source reasonably priced kitchen units and worktops too and was going to fit them for me. The only thing that would need sorting out then was the bathroom, but it could wait.

Monica and I had started divorce proceedings a while ago and the final papers had come through a few days earlier. Monica took off her wedding ring and put it away for safe keeping in case Per or Oscar wanted it when they grew up. I had never worn one—several of my fingers were adorned with heavy silver rings and Monica had just bought me a special one with a skull on it to go with them when we got married. I didn't intend to part with it.

"This is it, then." She got out of the car to say goodbye to me outside the apartment. The boys were with Ulrik's wife and kids for the day, so we didn't need to worry about them being upset by this. They would be visiting me the next weekend and staying over. "Don't forget to sort out camp beds for the boys," Monica said as if she'd read my mind.

"I'm on it. I already ordered bunks. They're ready to pick up this afternoon."

"Shit, Petter, you're organised all of a sudden."

"I'll have to be without you keeping me in order."

"Come here." She threw her arms around me and we hugged each other tightly. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed the lump in my throat, surprised by the sudden rush of emotion. We weren't in love with each other anymore, but we were still best friends and had a lot of history. It hurt to walk away.

When Monica stepped away from me, she brushed tears from the corners of her eyes and gave me a wobbly smile. "See you soon."

"Yeah."

She got in the car and drove away. I watched until the car turned out of sight, then went indoors and called Johan. He intended to get started right away before I unpacked things he'd have to cover up with sheets. Most of the old man's furniture remained, besides the bed which had been falling to bits. I took it apart and loaded into my truck ready to take to the scrap heap on my way to pick up the new beds for the boys. I left Johan in the apartment with his wallpaper stripper and set off.

By the time I returned with the new beds which required putting together, Johan had stripped off all the wallpaper and disposed of it and had started preparing the woodwork for painting. I unpacked the beds and set to work. I wasn't incapable of DIY—I was just lazy and uninterested as a rule. But these were beds for Per and Oscar to use in a few days' time, so I buckled down and had one built in an hour.

"Hey, Petter," Johan called from the other room.

"Yeah."

"Is it true you told Adam you're quitting?"

"What did he say?"

"That you're not dealing anymore."

"Yeah, it's true."

"He didn't say why," Johan prompted.

"Well, it's no secret. A young guy overdosed in Malmo after taking Ecstasy I supplied. It made me rethink things. I made enough money to pay off the mortgage for Monica and rent this place. I don't need to do it anymore."

"You don't want to stop the others continuing?"

"No. It's the boys' choice whether they do it or not, although there are the Mimicas to contend with."

"You're a huge improvement on Ulrik." Johan chuckled. "He'd have strung us up if we didn't do as he wanted. He'd never leave us to make our own choices if it related to the gang."

I looked up to find him standing in the doorway. "Well, I'm not Ulrik." I straightened up and turned the completed bed the right way up before placing a new mattress on it. "We do things differently."

"You're not going to step down, are you?"

"From President? No. Not unless I become unpopular."

"That won't happen, Petter. The boys all respect you." Johan grinned. "Have you got anything to eat? I'm starving, but I don't want to leave off here yet. I can get a couple more hours in."

"I can get pizza," I suggested.

"Awesome." Johan got back to work, and I found the number of a local pizza shop in my phone. I ordered a couple of pizzas and a large garlic bread for delivery, then got to work building the second bed.

Johan didn't leave until he'd prepared all the woodwork and filled in a few holes in the walls ready for painting. He left me a pile of sheets to drape over the furniture in the morning so he could come back and start painting.

That night I slept in one of the bunk beds. I had ordered a bed for myself, but it wouldn't be ready for a few more days. The furniture company was going to deliver it. I lay awake in the narrow bunk, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Monica and the kids. She and I had only spent one night apart in the last ten years, and that had been because I was in a jail cell after I got arrested for possession. Ulrik paid my bail the next day and although I was charged, the punishment was a fine since the amount of drugs I was found with could be believed to be for personal use, and it was my first offence.

There hadn't been anything other than friendship between Monica and me for the past year and we'd slept in separate rooms, but she was always there to talk to. If I had anything on my mind and wouldn't talk, which was my usual way, she'd pry it out of me and offer a solution, or support, or a slap if she thought I needed that. She was still there at the end of the phone, but we were both starting out on new stages of our lives. We wouldn't be at each other's beck and call every day.

I huffed out a sigh. Other than Monica, I didn't really have anyone I could call a friend. The Mobsters were friends in as much as they'd help you out with the decorating, or fixing a car, or have your back in a difficult situation, but none of us talked to each other about personal stuff—not even Ulrik and me, and I'd known him almost twenty years. We met our wives around the same time as each other and our kids were similar ages. For the first time in my life, I felt lonely.

Eventually, I fell asleep. When I woke it was daylight and Johan was hammering on the door. "Get up, Petter, you lazy bastard!" he shouted.

I hauled myself out of bed and went to the door, still in the underwear and tee shirt I slept in. "Fuck, Johan, upset the neighbours on my first day here, why don't you?" I ushered him into the house and closed the door.

He laughed. "Have you got any coffee?"

"Don't know." Monica had packed a box of something she had labelled "supplies," but I hadn't looked in it yet. I found it in the kitchen and discovered it contained coffee, sugar, Oreo cookies—I laughed at this. She bought them for the kids and I always ate them. "I have coffee, but it'll be black. I haven't any milk yet."

"That's fine, I drink it black. Have you got sugar?"

"Yeah." The old man had left a kettle and there were some large mugs with pictures of classic cars on them in one of the cupboards. I made two black coffees with sugar and took one to Johan. He already had a tub of paint open and was setting up a ladder. I left him to get on with it and went to try out the shower. I was pleased to discover it was decent and after a scrub and finding some clean clothes to put on, I felt much better.

I went out for a while to stock up on groceries and buy more bedding and towels. I visited a carpet store, chose a plain dark grey carpet, and arranged for a fitter to call at the apartment to measure up.

By the end of the day, Johan had painted the living room, the small hallway, and the kids' bedroom. Only my bedroom and the kitchen were left, and the woodwork. He finished it the following day while I went to the workshop to carry out some repairs on a couple of bikes I had booked in. Ulrik came over to hang out with me for a while and check on how I was doing. He brought beer and a cake Sara had made for me, and we ate it in lieu of lunch.

"How are you doing?" he asked eventually.

"All right."

"Must be weird without Monica. I never thought you two would split up."

"It's been on the cards for a year." No one had known until a few days ago. We'd carried on as normal in front of the Mobsters and Monica's family.

"Did you cheat?" Ulrik raised an eyebrow.

"No!"

"Did she?"

"Fuck off, Ulrik," I growled. "No one cheated. No one fucked up. We just don't want to be together anymore."

"Sorry. I just don't get it." He opened another of the cans of beer he'd brought with him. "What about Per and Oscar?"

"They'll stay with me on the weekends sometimes. I'll take them to day care and school whenever Monica can't. She and I are friends, Ulrik. We're not avoiding each other."

"So why can't you work through whatever this is?" It wasn't like him to talk about this sort of stuff in detail. He was almost as taciturn as me.

"Just leave it. It suits us," I grunted.

"Fair enough. Sara will get it out of Monica, I'm sure."

"There's nothing to 'get out of Monica.' We just don't want to be married anymore." I glared at him over my shoulder, then turned back to the bike I was working on. "If you can't drop it, why don't you go and find something else to do?"

"I'm on bail. I don't have anything else to do right now."

"Well, then, talk about something else. Or don't talk."

"Jesus, you got grumpy since you became President." He snorted but stopped talking for a while. He just sat drinking his beer and I worked. When I finished repairing the first bike, I called its owner to come and get it and told him what he owed me. Then I started on the second.

When I returned to the apartment in the late afternoon, Johan was still there but he was finishing up the last of the painting on the woodwork. The place reeked of paint and was freezing as he had all the windows open.

"Damn, that was fast," I said as I admired all the work he'd put in. Everything was painted cream—simple and boring, Monica would have said. The house was full of colour. "What do I owe you?"

"Nothing, Petter. My bikes both need servicing in the next couple of weeks."

"Okay. No problem. Bring them over whenever you want."

He cleared away his equipment and sheets and soon after I was left alone again. My dinner that night was sandwiches and Oreo cookies. I decided I really needed to start planning things properly. I didn't have Monica to decide what we were going to eat and make it anymore. I was on my own and would probably stay that way for the foreseeable future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter gets used to being on his own and Monica goes on a first date with a new man

I had a few bike jobs on for the rest of the week to keep me busy. My new bed arrived on Friday, and Johan called to tell me he'd got hold of some kitchen units and could work on my kitchen after the weekend. The carpet store arranged to send their fitter on Monday too, so everything was in hand.

I picked up Per and Oscar from the house after school on Friday and took them out for pizza, then to see a movie. They liked my apartment and especially their new bunk beds with the Spiderman quilt covers I'd put on.

Gradually, I was getting used to being on my own, but there were plenty of times I forgot to buy milk or realised there was no hot water and reminded myself Monica wasn't there to organise the household like she always had. I refused to call her, but she called me twice a week to make sure I hadn't burned the place down making toast or forgotten to wash my clothes. I wondered how I'd managed before I met her. After I left home at sixteen, I couch-surfed for months with various school mates, and eventually got a job as an apprentice mechanic and lived in a shitty studio apartment above the garage I worked at. It had a bathroom so tiny you had to stand with one leg either side of the toilet to take a shower. The bed was a mattress on the floor and the cooking facilities were a propane gas stove and a kettle. I hadn't cared then. I'd been eighteen and delighted to have my own place. I put all my spare money into getting my first bike.

On Saturday, I took the boys to the workshop for a couple of hours. I had a service to do and they were happy to think they were helping by passing me spanners and sockets when I asked for them. Then they sat on my bikes and pretended to be motorcycle racers while I finished the job. Later, I took them to Ulrik's house to play with his kids, while he and I drank a few beers and watched football on the TV, and Sara cooked the first proper meal I'd had since I moved to the apartment.

I drove the boys home on Sunday morning and stayed a while for coffee. Monica was cooking a roast for lunch and invited me to stay.

"I'm not starving, you know," I joked.

"No, but I bet you're living on pizza and instant noodles. Sara said you and Ulrik ate a whole cake for lunch at the workshop."

I groaned. "Ulrik and his fat mouth. We were talking. It was a nice cake."

"I bet you got the third degree from him. Sara won't stop either. There has to be more to it than just growing apart. It's bullshit."

"Don't worry about it. They'll find something else to talk about soon enough. Ulrik said they're trying to have another kid."

"Did he? She never told me that! I need to have words."

We chatted the way we always did while she finished cooking the meal and we all sat around the table to eat as if it were any other Sunday in the last ten years. As much as I was tempted to hang around after I helped with the dishes, I set off for home, reminding myself that the house was no longer my home.

The next day the carpet fitter and Johan both arrived first thing in the morning. I stayed in until the carpet was done and the fitter left, then drove to Johan's place, left my truck on his drive, and rode one of his bikes to the workshop to service it. I fitted a brand-new top of the range chain and sprockets while I was at it and switched the clutch and brake levers for some smart red ones to match the bike that Johan had mentioned he wanted to get at some point. Then I rode it back to his house, switched it for the other one, and took that to the workshop. I did the same with this one—upgrading various parts along with the service he wanted. I expected to pay for the kitchen units, but I knew he wouldn't let me pay for his labour. That was how things were in the Mobsters. We used each other's skills when we needed them and gave something in return. Everyone always offered payment, but it was never accepted.

The kitchen was half done when I walked in. The cupboards and drawers were all in place and the old units and work surfaces were stacked in the hallway waiting for Johan to take them away in his truck. He intended to return the next morning to fit the new counters. The cupboard doors were dark oak and the counters cream vinyl.

"What do you think?" Johan asked. "The store they came from is closing down so I got them dirt cheap."

"They're great." I wouldn't have cared what colour or style they were. Choosing things for a house wasn't my forte. "I really appreciate this. Your bikes are both done."

"Thanks, Petter." We shook hands and he left.

The Mobsters had a couple of meetings later that week at the workshop. Adam had obtained a supply of cocaine from our usual contact in Turkey and had roped in two new members to help sell it. They glanced at me warily as he told me this as if they thought they were going behind my back when I'd made it clear I wouldn't be involved anymore.

"Where are you stashing it?" Ulrik asked.

"My place," Adam replied.

"Good. Don't bring it here. I'm already looking at a prison sentence. You don't want Petter going the same way, do you?"

I glanced at him but didn't argue. He was right. The police had raided the workshop a month ago after his latest arrest and hadn't found anything, but it didn't mean they wouldn't keep doing it if they suspected some of us were still dealing.

"I took part of the floor up in my attic. It can stay there for now," Adam said.

"Be careful you don't tread on the Mimicas' toes," I warned him. "You know why I went to Malmo recently."

"There are only, what, four or five of them?" Adam frowned. "What can they do to us?"

"Are you serious?" I scowled at him. "You don't remember your friend Frank was killed just weeks ago? You know who did that. You were there. That Stefan whatever-his-name-is. I had to meet Davor Mimica and agree to let them take over the city otherwise they'd retaliate. There might be more of us, but they're clever and they don't have the cops sniffing around them like we do. They could wipe out half of us without anyone knowing. So, stay off their turf."

Adam nodded. "Sure, Petter. No problem."

The meeting wrapped up shortly after that and I locked the workshop when everyone had left.

That weekend Per and Oscar came to stay again, although I didn't pick them up until Saturday afternoon this time as Monica took them shopping for new school uniform for Per in the morning. They stayed the night with me, and I took them home Sunday. Again, I stayed for lunch.

We fell into a new routine where I spent time with the boys most weekends and when I took them home, I stayed for a meal. Weeks passed and I began to get used to it, although I still rattled around my apartment alone in between, feeling somewhat lost.

I was surprised when Monica called me at the workshop on Friday morning, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "Petter, can I ask a favour?"

"Of course. What's up?"

"Could you come over and watch the boys tonight for a few hours?"

"No problem. What are you doing?"

"I, um, I have to go out."

I thought for a moment. She sounded like she didn't want to tell me what she was doing, which I assumed could only mean one thing. "Do you have a date?"

"Uh, well, it's not really—"

"You're entitled," I put in. "We're divorced, remember?"

"All right. Yes, it's a date. Just dinner."

"Anyone I know?"

"No, he's not a Mobster. A client, actually."

Monica was a cleaner and apparently someone whose house she cleaned had asked her out.

"I could pick the boys up and bring them to mine," I suggested. "Keep them until Sunday."

"No, just come over to the house. I'll leave a meal in the fridge for you."

"What if you want to ask him in for coffee… or something?" It seemed strange talking to Monica about this stuff. I didn't see her as my wife anymore, only as my friend, but I still felt protective. However, it was up to her what she did and with whom, and me being in the house might cramp her style.

"I won't," she said quickly. "It's new. I don't know him very well. I don't want to come back to an empty house and rush into something I might regret later."

I laughed a little. "All right. What time are you going out?"

"He said he'd pick me up at seven."

"I'll be there at six-thirty."

"Thank you, Petter. Are you sure you don't mind? Me doing this, I mean?"

"Of course I don't mind. You're single. You can date who you want, when you want. But if he doesn't treat you nicely, I'll kick his arse."

Monica giggled. "I hope that won't be necessary. See you later."

I hung up and got back to work on changing a bike's exhaust system. I didn't feel hurt or jealous. I hadn't been sure how I'd feel when she met someone else. She hadn't intended to look for anyone this soon, but sometimes things just happened. I was surprised how little it bothered me. It made me wonder if I should make an effort to meet someone, but I couldn't see myself doing it. I wouldn't know where to start.

I didn't see anything of Monica's date. He knocked on the door at exactly seven o'clock. I was watching Star Wars with the boys and stayed where I was as she answered the door. She went out wearing new black jeans and a fluffy blue jumper, which was about as feminine as Monica would ever get. She looked nice though and had a touch of makeup on—also unlike her.

The movie finished shortly after and the boys went to bed. Oscar fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but Per wanted a story reading to him, so I did that for twenty minutes until he dozed off. Then I watched TV and ate the pasta meal Monica had left for me. A car pulled up outside a little before eleven o'clock and she came in alone less than five minutes later. She didn't look rumpled or flushed, although her lipstick was gone.

"How was it?" I asked.

"It was nice. He's nice." Now, she flushed.

"Nice? Sounds boring." I couldn't resist teasing her.

"He was polite and considerate. Held doors for me. Pulled my chair out at the table. That sort of thing."

"Not like me, then."

"Oh Petter, I didn't mean—" Her flush deepened.

"Stop. I'm joking. I'm glad he's nice. You know I want you to be happy, right? What's his name, anyway?"

"Lasse."

"How old is he?"

"Forty-five."

"What does he do?"

"He's an accountant." Monica laughed. "Don't you dare say 'boring' again."

"I wasn't going to. You like him?"

"I think so."

"You didn't sit out front in his car for that long."

"Fuck off, Petter!" She reddened more. "You know I've only ever been with you. I'm taking things slow and he's happy with that. And I'm not saying another word on that subject."

"Thank God for that." I grinned.

"So, what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Anyone new on the cards?"

"No." I shook my head in emphasis.

"You need to get out more."

"Maybe I do."

"When you find someone, I want to be the first to know, okay? I don't want to hear about her from Sara after Ulrik and all the other Mobsters get to know."

"You'll probably be the only one I tell anything to. I'm hardly a gossip, am I?"

I left a few minutes later and went home. My mobile phone rang as I was driving and I checked quickly to see if it was Monica, but I didn't recognise the number. I didn't bother answering it and I went to bed when I got in.

The next day I worked and picked up the boys to take them out in the evening, and to stay with me overnight. Sunday afternoon when I checked my phone, I realised I'd had another call from the same unknown number. I didn't call back. There was no message, and it was probably a sales call. I didn't think anymore about it.

Monday morning, I started early at the workshop. I had three bikes to service that morning. Two of the owners came to collect them as soon as I called to say they were done. I finished the last one and moved it to a corner of the workshop, then called its owner who said he would have to pick it up the next day as he was out of town. I put the phone back in my pocket and opened the mini fridge to get a bottle of water.

"Hey."

The voice sounded familiar and I turned around. A young guy in a checked overcoat stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, a nervous smile on his face.

"Daniel? What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too." He grinned wider. "You know, you should try answering your phone sometimes."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter is horrified when he learns what happened to Daniel in Malmo

"I, um, sorry, I—" I grabbed a rag to wipe the dirt off my hands, then reached out to shake his. "Good to see you."

He gripped my hand firmly and shook it. When I would have pulled away, he held on for a couple of seconds longer, then put his hand back in his pocket.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"I'm an investigative journalist," he reminded me. "There was a police report from a while back—"

I groaned.

"It mentioned the Mobsters gang and your garage."

"You're too good at your job for my liking." I smiled a little. "You didn't say what you're doing here. Don't tell me you drove six hundred kilometres because I didn't answer my phone."

"I was—"

My phone—the one I kept separate for the business—rang and I turned away to pick it up from the work bench. "Sorry, Daniel, give me a minute."

The call was a customer asking if I could put some new tyres on his bike. I took down the type and size he wanted and booked him in for the next day. Then I called my tyre supplier and ordered the tyres to be delivered in the morning. While I did that and wrote the details in my order book, Daniel wandered around the workshop looking at things.

"Sorry about that."

"It's okay. You're busy. I probably shouldn't have turned up like this."

I looked at him properly and noticed his dishevelled appearance and the dark circles around his eyes. It reminded me of how he'd looked the morning I drove him home from the hospital. A light dusting of stubble on his jaw and upper lip told me he hadn't shaved for a couple of days either.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I'm okay."

"Are you still using that shit?"

"No. Not since that night. I told you I wouldn't."

"But you look—"

"Like shit. I know." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I haven't been sleeping well." He took a step towards the door. "I'll get out of your way."

"I'm done for the day. Hold on." I gathered up the things I needed and followed him outside. I locked up and glanced around the yard and the street. "Where's your car?"

"In Malmo."

"How did you get here then?"

"Train."

I unlocked the Silverado and got behind the wheel. Daniel climbed in the other side and put his seatbelt on.

"We'll go to my place," I said.

"What about your family?"

"You remember what I was doing in Malmo?"

"Making extra money to pay off the mortgage. You were getting divorced," he remembered.

"Yeah. It's done. I live alone now. It's ten minutes away." I started the engine. Daniel relaxed with a sigh.

"I'm sorry to turn up like this. I guess I didn't really have anyone else to call."

"Shit," I muttered. "What's happened?"

"It's a long story." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, his hand shaking a little.

I couldn't bring myself to complain or ask him to open the window. I barely knew him, but it was obvious to anyone with partial eyesight that he was in a bad way. If he wasn't on drugs, then something bad enough to shake him up and keep him from sleeping had occurred. He had no one to call on other than me—a man he'd met once who lived six hours away. I drove quickly and soon parked outside my apartment.

"This is it." I pushed open the door and let Daniel walk in first. He took off his coat and hung it on one of the coat pegs on the wall. "First left," I added and he turned into the living room. "You want a drink of something?"

"Just coffee if you have it."

"Sure." I made two coffees and took a carton of milk and some sugar into the room with it. I didn't know how he took his coffee. He helped himself to milk and sipped it. He was sitting at one end of the couch and I sat at the other end. "What happened?" I repeated.

"I don't know why I'm even here. I shouldn't be dumping my shit on you."

"You haven't yet."

"Have you forgotten how we met?" He flashed a smile that vanished just as fast as it appeared.

"No, I haven't. I also remember giving you my number. I wouldn't have if I didn't want you to call, although you seem to have found me anyway."

Daniel flushed. "Now I feel like a stalker. Okay. You remember the serial killer I told you about?"

"Yes, I read the articles you wrote when I got home."

"You did?"

"Yes, I was curious. I liked your work."

He smiled more. "Are you aware that they haven't caught him yet?"

"They hadn't the last I heard. I haven't checked for a while, though. I've been busy."

He nodded. "He was still sending me information. I made a mistake. I published a list of addresses of people treated for psychotic disorders that he was trying to draw attention to. I wanted attention myself. I suppose in part I was trying to impress him and get closer to him, so I could be in with a chance of exposing him before the police did. Stupid, I know." He paused to sip his coffee.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. But I lost my job over it. I released private records from the psychiatric unit's files. When my boss finished hauling me over the coals for that, she pointed out I'd got too big for my boots and most of my colleagues disliked me." He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged nonchalantly but he didn't convince me he didn't care about that. He'd had a prominent position with the paper—being fired must have been a big kick in the teeth. My first glimpse of him had been of a confident, perhaps cocky young man, and his articles came across that way too. He was good and he knew it. Maybe having his position pulled out from under his feet made him question himself.

"That's rough," I put in.

He shrugged again. "I took the files I'd been working on and continued privately. The killer's next target was five children. He held them captive and announced that one would be released for every fire set at a prominent business's premises. I published the list of the companies he wanted to burn. Well, I got Ake to do it. He still believed in me at that point. Members of the public started some of the fires. Each time the fire service was called to one of them, a kid was released."

"Fucking hell." What had he got himself into? I listened avidly as he continued.

"Time was running out and there was one left. I lit the last fire myself."

"You what?" I stared at him in shock.

"I took some paper cuttings, a bottle of vodka, and a lighter, and called the office of the company to ask for an interview with one of the directors. He agreed but when I got there he was late. I set a fire in the office and left. No one knows it was me except for Ake and the receptionist at the office, and she applauded what I was doing because that last kid got out. She said she would tell the director I didn't show up." He gulped. "I saved a child's life."

"You could have gone to jail."

"So what? He was a five-year-old boy. What would you have done?"

"The same," I said without hesitation. "I have a five-year-old."

"So, you get it. Ake thought I was crazy. The killer—he laughed. He called me and asked me to meet him." His hand shook so hard he put the coffee mug down before he spilled the rest of the contents. "I was talking to him on the phone as I left my apartment and walked to my car. He said he'd give me his one and only interview and then I could turn him in. He was dying, you see. Cancer. He wanted a grand finale." He stopped talking and stared at the new grey carpet under his feet.

"I'm guessing that didn't happen."

"No. He was playing up to my ego. He knew I'd fall for it. But I panicked. I unlocked the car and I remembered sitting in it with the bomb in the back seat, waiting for the last few seconds of my life to tick away with the timer. It didn't go off, but it could have for all I knew. I wondered if he'd done something again and that the offer of an interview and to turn him in was a ploy. I cut him off and called Saga Noren instead. She's the cop who's dealing with the case, along with a Danish guy. They found—" He was breathing hard, hands clenched into fists. "If I'd got in the car I'd be dead. The doors were wired to lock with me inside and there was a gas cannister connected to the ignition. If I turned the key, I'd have been gassed. They kept my car for a week, but I couldn't have got it in again. I told them to sell it for salvage and send the money to my bank."

"Jesus Christ."

"Ake said I have nine lives. You know, like a cat. He doesn't even know about the overdose. I went back to my apartment and packed a bag. I stayed in a hotel for two weeks but I can't go anywhere without imagining he's watching my every move, waiting for an opportunity to finish what he started. I can't afford to keep the apartment without a job anyway. The cops wanted my phone so I got another one. I tried calling you a couple of days ago and then I thought, what the hell. I got on a train."

"I'm sorry I didn't pick up." I was so horrified by what he told me, I couldn't think of anything to say. I tried to imagine myself in that situation and wasn't able to.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, why would I? You said you didn't have anyone else to call."

"You don't owe me anything. All I've done is cause you trouble."

"No, you haven't. The first time I was responsible. I don't do that anymore, by the way. I still had some gear in my car when I left your place. I sold it to a gang in Linkoping on my way home. Then I walked away from it. Some of my gang still deal, but they don't involve me."

"That's good."

Neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes. I thought about things while I finished my coffee. What did he want from me? Just someone to talk to? A place to hide out until the killer was caught? He was a long way from home and knew no one other than me, which meant he'd have to stay in a hotel again.

"Where's your stuff?" I asked.

"What stuff?"

"You said you packed a bag."

"It's in a hotel in Norrmalm."

"That won't be cheap."

He shrugged and looked up at me. "Could you give me a ride back there?"

"Sure." I got up. "It's fifteen minutes away. Collect your bag and check out. You can come back here."

"You don't have to do that, Petter. I wasn't angling towards staying with you."

"I don't care if you were. You can until you figure out what you're going to do. You can't live in a hotel indefinitely. Besides, you wanted someone to talk to. You won't have that if you're there and I'm here, will you?"

He stood up and ran a hand through his hair, making some of it stand on end. "Thank you." He took a step closer to me and wrapped one arm around my neck. For a second I thought he was about to kiss me, but he turned his head to the side and merely gave me a quick hug, then moved away. I stood still, trying to remember how to breathe. What the hell happened? My heart slammed against my ribs and my stomach had that knotted feeling halfway between fear and excitement. I realised I was probably glowering in shock, and I forced my face to relax. I picked up my jacket and keys again and headed for the door.

I waited in the truck outside the hotel while Daniel checked out and collected his belongings. He returned with a large holdall and a laptop bag, and climbed into the truck. I barely spoke as I drove back to the apartment. I couldn't think of anything to say and as I planned out the sleeping arrangements—he would have to have my bed and I'd sleep in one of the kids' bunks—I remembered the night I'd spent at his place. I woke with him practically in my arms. I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white and my rings threatened to cut my fingers.

Daniel chattered on as I drove, seeming oblivious to my discomfort. He'd been to Stockholm once as a child and barely remembered it. He was born in Gothenburg but lived most of his life in Malmo. His parents were dead, but they lived long enough to find out he was gay and shun him because of it. He studied journalism at university and started working at Aftonposten aged twenty-two as a junior and had climbed the ladder quicker than anyone expected. He got all the best stories until he fucked up over the serial killer. He was thirty.

"Sorry, I'm not letting you get a word in," he said eventually.

"It's fine." I pulled the truck into the parking area outside the apartment again and cut the engine.

"I really appreciate this." He got out and waited for me to unlock the apartment door. "I don't know what I would have done if you had—"

I opened the door. "What? Told you to get lost? I'm not going to do that, Daniel." I grinned. "My wife always said I'm too caring for my own good." I led the way into my bedroom. "You can sleep here."

"This is your room?" He looked around at the sparse furniture, motorcycle boots and helmet on a shelf, the open wardrobe door showing my spare leathers and various pairs of jeans and shirts hanging up. He smirked and his eyes twinkled.

"I'll sleep in my kids' room."

"They live here?" His eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't stay."

"They live with their mother. They just stay over most weekends. It's fine. Do you want anything to eat?"

"I'm starving actually. I haven't eaten today." Daniel placed his bags beside the bed and sat on the edge of it. "I haven't showered either. Can I use your bathroom?"

"Help yourself. It's next door. There are towels in the cupboard. What do you want to eat?"

"Anything."

"Right." I left him alone and went to order food to be delivered. I had no idea what he liked, but I remembered there had been cold leftover pizza in his fridge, so I ordered a couple with different toppings. It would do for now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel starts looking for accommodation in Stockholm, and Petter questions how he feels about his temporary housemate

Daniel spent a long time in the shower. He eventually emerged with a towel around his waist and went into the bedroom. Five minutes later he appeared again wearing a tee shirt and cord jeans the colour of the rust on some of my oldest tools.

"I don't suppose you have a hairdryer?"

I snorted. "No."

"Doesn't matter." He ran a hand through his wet hair and sat back down cross-legged at the end of the couch. His feet were bare. "How long have you lived here?"

"A few weeks. I was lucky to get it. An old man owns it. He was moving in with his family. Renting accommodation here is a nightmare. Agency rentals have waiting lists."

Daniel frowned. "Are there many private rentals?"

"Some, but you have to be fast. They're usually gone within hours of being advertised. This one needed some work, so a few people had turned it down."

"I don't want to go back to Malmo. Forget the killer. I burned my bridges at work. There's nothing there for me anymore."

"There must be other newspapers."

"All of which know me too well. Aftonposten's the biggest tabloid. Maybe I just need a change. But if I can't find anywhere to live here, then it's pointless."

"You'd move here?" My pulse quickened.

"There's nothing to keep me in Malmo."

There was a knock on the door, and I went to get the pizzas, along with a couple of beers from the kitchen. I placed the pizza boxes on the middle sofa cushion and passed one of the beers to Daniel.

"I should pay for the food," he said.

"Don't worry about it." I gulped some of my beer and helped myself to a slice of meat feast. "You could look for private rentals like I did. That'll be your best option. You can set up alerts on the website, so they email you when a new one is listed."

"I'll do that. I'll get my laptop out later." He took a slice of the pizza and nibbled it. "How old are your kids? You said you have a five-year-old?"

"Yeah, Oscar. And Per is eight."

"What do they think about you living here?" He shook his head. "Sorry if that's too personal."

I shrugged. "They'd rather I was at the house but staying here is a bit of an adventure. I suppose I spoil them more than I did when I was living with them."

"What about your ex-wife?"

"We're friends. She met someone else recently."

"You know, you can tell me to shut up." He looked up at me and smiled. "I treat everyone like an interview subject. It's a bad habit."

"It's okay." I grinned at him. "I never talk like this."

"Well, don't stop. What's Petter Hill like?"

"Not that interesting. I'm a bike mechanic and a gang President."

"How long have you been the Mobsters' leader?"

"Not long. Less than a year." I drained my beer bottle. "You're not going to write about me, are you?"

"No." He chuckled. "I'm just interested. If we talk about you, I can forget my own shit for a while."

"So, what else do you want to know?"

"You said your ex has someone new. What about you?" He shoved a bite of pizza into his mouth and eyed me steadily.

"No. Haven't thought about it. Monica says I should get out more." I avoided his gaze as an unwelcome image of his body pressed against mine in his bed came to mind.

"What's the nightlife like here? Any good nightclubs?"

"I don't know what you'd call a good nightclub. I don't go to them. I used to, but only to sell stuff."

"What do you do when you go out?"

I laughed a little. "I can't remember the last time I went out the way you mean. My life revolves around my kids or the gang. Monica and I used to go out for dinner sometimes. Ulrik who used to be President and his wife looked after the boys if we wanted to do that. We decided to separate over a year ago though, so it's been a long time."

"Monica's right. You should get out more." Daniel smiled. "I used to go out all the time in Malmo. Two or three times a week anyway, and always on Fridays to that club where I met you."

"You don't date?" I blurted before I thought better of it. I looked away quickly and stuffed more pizza into my mouth.

"Not really. You don't want to hear about that, do you?"

I shrugged one shoulder and hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt. Why did I even want to know what a gay man got up to?

"Well, I hook up sometimes. For like, a night. That's it. It was usually when I was hyped up on pills. It's been a while. The kind of, um, people I meet tend to not be into dating."

"Right," I mumbled. So, he'd pick up some random guy and have sex and never see them again. I'd done that a couple of times before I met Monica and it hadn't seemed right. I'd felt like I was using them.

"I had a boyfriend when I was young," Daniel continued. "I was in university. He was my professor."

My eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

He laughed. "Yeah. He was twice my age. He had a lot of money and drove a Porsche. I had visions of never having to work for the rest of my life. Of course, it was a pipe dream. He saw me as temporary entertainment and when I finished his class at the end of the year, he moved onto somebody else."

"What did you do?"

"I moped for about a week, then went out and got laid." He grinned and finished his beer. "Do you have any more of these?"

"In the fridge. Help yourself."

He got up and went into the kitchen. He returned with two beers and handed one to me before he sat down again. "Thanks for this. I feel better. I haven't been able to get what happened out of my head for a minute. I can't sleep. I'm always looking over my shoulder. It helps being somewhere else, with somebody else. Sitting in my hotel room on my own, I can't stop thinking about it."

"It's okay."

"You really don't mind me staying for a day or two?"

I imagined it would be longer than that if he intended on trying to find accommodation in Stockholm, but I didn't say so. "No, it's fine. I don't mind the company."

"I didn't expect this, you know. I didn't know what would be going on in your life. I mean, you said you wanted to pay off your mortgage, but you still might have been living with your family." He gulped some more beer and picked up another slice of pizza.

I stayed silent. I couldn't think of anything else to say at that moment, so I ate and drank my second beer, and surreptitiously studied Daniel when he wasn't looking my way. He seemed like a nice guy—friendly and funny. We didn't have much in common that I could see. He was alone and apparently liked that. I was alone and lonely, and missed having my family around me. He liked to party, while going out drinking and dancing was the last thing I could imagine myself doing. A night out for me was a moonlit motorcycle ride with some of the boys, and a few beers, or taking my kids to the movies. But it was good to have someone new to talk to. I was talking more than I ever talked to anyone, even Monica.

We finished the pizzas and I cleared away the boxes. Daniel followed me into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while I made coffee. "I like your apartment," he said. "Mine's full of clutter and shit."

"I know." I smiled at him over my shoulder, then turned away again. "Did you just leave it all?"

"No, I'm tied into the lease for three more months. If I stay here, I'll have to go back and sort it out. I'm hoping they catch the killer soon. I don't want to be there until they do."

"That makes sense." I passed him a coffee. He looked down as he sipped it and I noticed his eyelashes were incredibly long for a man. He was clean-shaven now and had the typical good looks of a blond Swede. I looked away. Why was I thinking these things? Was I attracted to him? Would I be thinking the same way if he wasn't gay? Perhaps that was the only reason. It was safe to think about him in that way because if he knew, he wouldn't yell at me and call me a faggot. I just found it strange that I would think about this now after nineteen years. It made me wonder what would have happened if Torgny hadn't behaved that way in the morning. If he had woken up and kissed me instead, or suggested we spend more time together, would I have wanted to? He was my friend then, but I'd never thought of him in any other way. I couldn't have even said he was good looking. But I was drunk and horny, and I hadn't been able to say no. Hadn't wanted to.

I pushed those thoughts aside quickly and headed back to the living room. I switched on the TV and found a news channel to see if we could find out anything about the serial killer. After a while, there was a report about it and a senior cop called Kanehed gave a statement. They hadn't caught the killer yet and had the combined forces of Malmo and Copenhagen hunting him. The news reader recapped what had happened so far, and Daniel was pictured as he was described as previously being the killer's contact.

"Shit," he muttered.

The news reader went on to say the killer apparently wanted Daniel to join his list of victims, given that his car had been targeted with gas. As he had now disappeared and couldn't be contacted, there were fears that something had happened to him.

"Oh, shit!" he repeated.

"Didn't you tell the cops what you were doing?"

"No, I just said I didn't want the car back." He pulled out his phone and selected a number. Someone answered after a moment. "Hi, this is Daniel Ferbe."

"Where are you?" a woman's voice demanded, loud enough for me to hear the words clearly.

"I'm in Stockholm."

"If you planned to leave Malmo, you should have let us know. We've been wasting our time looking for you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think about that. I just wanted to get away. I'm with a friend."

"Well, perhaps it's a good thing that you're not here. He's still out there."

"I know. I'm watching the news."

"I'll keep you updated." She hung up abruptly.

Daniel put his phone away. "That was Saga Noren." He turned his attention back to the TV, but the report on the killer was coming to an end and there was nothing more of interest. He slumped back against the sofa cushions. "How the hell can they not find him? This has been going on for months now. He's clever but surely it will end soon."

"Hey. You're safe here. You don't have to go back there until they've got him."

"I know. Thanks. God, I really need to smoke but I'm trying to quit."

"Is it really that hard?" I'd never smoked and couldn't imagine being so hooked on something I couldn't just drop it when I wanted to.

"No, it's just habit. I have two left in the pack. I don't intend to buy anymore." He smiled suddenly. "I might be more of an arsehole when they're gone."

"I don't think you're an arsehole."

"That's something, I suppose." He fetched his laptop and sat down closer to me than before. "Do you have wi-fi?"

"Yes. The password's on the back of the router." I pointed to where it sat on the windowsill. Daniel logged on quickly and searched for private rentals. Predictably, there were only three and all were noted as "claimed."

"Register as a user and set up the notifications. If you put your phone number in, you'll get texts."

"I'm doing that." He typed rapidly, his slim fingers flying over the keys. Then he brought up Aftonposten's website and looked at the latest articles. One of his ex-colleagues had posted a new report about the killer, and Ake had written something about a local celebrity who had been caught by a photographer with his pants down. His wife had sold their story for a small fortune and intended to emigrate with the proceeds.

"That stuff interests you?" I asked.

"Not really. Ake was fascinated by it. I prefer grittier stories."

"I've noticed." I went back to watching the TV while Daniel looked for jobs available in Stockholm. Eventually, I excused myself and went to bed in the kids' room.

I didn't think I would sleep well with my mind in a mess the way it was. I couldn't stop questioning myself and I repeatedly wondered, why now? Why, after all this time? What if my drunken experience had been with a gay guy instead of Torgny? I'd certainly liked it at the time, but what if I were sober? I hadn't been a Mobster then. It wouldn't have mattered so much. I thought about Daniel again. What would it be like kissing him? Touching him? Would I like it?

My dick twitched a little, but it didn't get hard. There was probably nothing in it. I just didn't know anyone who was gay, and I was curious about it. Nothing more than that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel can't sleep due to nightmares about the serial killer and Petter tries to help

I woke at some point in the middle of the night. The room was in darkness but a glow showed under the door. A faint sound reached my ears—the scrape of a cup or something on the kitchen counter. I groped for the clock beside the bed and checked the time. It was four in the morning. I kept listening but didn't hear anything else, although fifteen minutes later the light was still on.

Yawning, I climbed out of bed. I slept in the tee shirt I'd been wearing the day before, and cotton boxer briefs. I opened the door and peered out. The apartment was silent, but the kitchen light was on and I could smell cigarette smoke. When I walked in, Daniel was sitting at the small table in the corner, his head on his folded arms, sleeping. It looked like he had gone to bed and got back up. He wore the same tee shirt he'd had on in the evening, and underwear similar to mine. An empty coffee mug sat in front of him and two cigarette butts had been ground out in a saucer. The empty packet was scrunched up beside it.

"Hey."

He didn't stir at the sound of my voice.

"Daniel." I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Hey."

He jerked upright, startled, and blinked.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You were asleep," I pointed out.

"I must have been tired after all." He rubbed a hand over his face. He looked terrible—eyes bloodshot and the shadows beneath them were darker than before.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Because every time I close my eyes, it's like it's happening again. I dream about it. The bomb. The gas. If I'd got in the car when I was talking to him, the doors would have locked. It all plays out in my head as if I'd done that and I wake up gasping, like I can't breathe." He was gasping now, his chest heaving with the effort, and his eyes were wild and anxious. "It's fucking ridiculous," he went on. "This isn't me. I don't scare easily, but—"

"I think anyone would be scared in your position. This killer will go down in history books. After all this time, and the number of people he's murdered, the cops still haven't caught him. You've had personal contact with him and he tried to kill you."

"Thanks, Petter. I really wanted that spelling out."

"I'm sorry." I groaned. "Isn't it different here? He's a long way away and you're not on your own. I'm literally the other side of the wall."

"Yes, it's better. But I still don't want to fall asleep. I'm sorry I smoked in the house."

"No problem. Let me show you something." I realised I shouldn't have left it in my bedroom anyway, and I led the way into the room and flicked on the light. Daniel followed and sat on the edge of the bed. It didn't look as if he'd even got in it earlier. I opened the wardrobe and pulled up the loose board in the bottom. When I turned around with the gun in my hand, he gasped.

"What the fuck? You have a gun?"

"Yeah. A lot of the Mobsters do. We were at war with another gang for a long time. It's over now, but it's protection."

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

"No. I never needed to, although I came close a couple of times."

"You have a license for it?"

"No."

"Fuck." Daniel tugged a hand through his hair.

"I'd be in serious shit if I used it, but I would if he turned up here."

"He's not going to. I know that." He got up, pulled back the bed covers, and got in. "I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk about this."

"You're not. Get some sleep." I switched off the light and went back to the other room, taking the gun with me. I put it on the cabinet beside the bed and ten minutes later, I dozed off again.

When I woke it was daylight. There was no sound anywhere in the apartment and when I glanced in the open door of my own room, Daniel was fast asleep, facedown. I took a shower, made coffee and breakfast and got ready to go to the garage, and when I checked again he hadn't moved. I wrote him a note and left it on the kitchen table with a spare key, hid the gun, and went to work.

When I returned hours later, the apartment was locked up and he was out. I microwaved a frozen dinner and switched on the TV. He returned an hour later with two bags of groceries, made himself a sandwich, and joined me. He looked better.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yes, thanks. I slept until after two this afternoon."

"Good. Thanks for getting groceries."

"There's beer, too. I owe you. Any news?" He nodded towards the TV.

"Not that you'd want to hear. He's killed again."

"Bloody hell." He didn't ask for any details.

I didn't elaborate except to add, "He's still in Malmo."

He nodded.

"What did you do this afternoon?"

"I applied for a job with Svenska Dagbladet. It's for a daily columnist. It doesn't sound that exciting, but maybe I've had enough excitement for the time being."

"That's great. Good luck."

"Thanks. I don't know that I'll have much chance, but we'll see, so long as my reputation doesn't put them off."

We spent the evening watching TV and didn't talk much. I went to bed at eleven and this time, I heard Daniel go into my bedroom and move around for a while. Then there was silence. I went to sleep soon after.

I was disturbed sometime during the night by a loud yell, and I sat up quickly, flicked on the light and instinctively grabbed my gun. Then I put it down again and got out of bed. When I looked down the hall, I saw light under the door of my room. I tapped and opened it. Daniel sat in the bed, his tee shirt wet with sweat and his head in his hands. He looked up and grimaced.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"This is why I don't want to sleep. Fucking bad dreams."

"You want anything?" I shuffled from foot to foot, uncomfortable. I had a sudden urge to give him a hug, to try to make things better, but that was probably a bad idea.

"Yes, I—" He looked up and shook his head. "No. It's stupid."

I just stared at him and raised my eyebrows until my silence prompted him to say something.

"Maybe you could, uh, stay here?" He flushed, then grinned. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Shit." I thought about it for a moment, then went back to the boys' room.

"I'm sorry," I heard him say. "Fuck."

I switched off the light, grabbed a spare tee shirt from a pile of clean laundry in the kitchen, and went back to my room. I tossed the tee shirt to Daniel. "Put that on. Your shirt's soaking wet."

"You're staying?" he said in surprise.

"Yes. Move over."

He shuffled towards the side of the bed and peeled off the damp tee shirt. I caught a glimpse of his smooth chest before he put on my dry shirt, which hung loosely on his slim frame. I turned off the light and got in the vacant side of the bed.

Immediately, I wondered at the wisdom of my doing this. I lay on my back, rigid, staring at the ceiling and trying not to breathe too loudly. That other time, we'd both had out clothes on and rested on top of the bed covers. This was different. My heart thundered so loudly I wondered if he could hear it as he lay less than half a metre away from me. The muscles in my arms popped as I clenched my fists at my sides. I doubted I would sleep a wink, and I only hoped Daniel would do so, then he wouldn't realise how stupidly nervous I was.

He turned his back to me and much to my relief, his breathing quickly slowed and deepened. He didn't seem to have noticed my discomfort, or perhaps he had and was being diplomatic. I tried to relax and think about something else, but my imagination began working overtime. I remembered how he'd felt resting against me the last time—his head heavy on the top of my arm; warm breath on my skin. I shivered and my pounding heart continued to hammer. I found myself wishing he would roll over and snuggle against me, but I knew if he did I would probably catapult out of the bed as if he'd pulled a gun on me.

Eventually, I began to relax. He was fast asleep and snoring softly, and the sound began to lull me into sleep too. My anxiety had dispersed and I let myself drift, not really thinking about anything. The next thing I knew, daylight filled the room.

I opened my eyes and glanced at the blond head resting on my shoulder. He had rolled over in his sleep and snuggled against me, just as I imagined before I drifted off. I became aware of every little detail. His hair tickled my face. Warm breath touched my throat. His hand rested over my heart and if he woke, he'd feel its pace pick up. He had one leg hooked over mine and his erection pressed against my thigh. I was hard too, but if he woke he wouldn't feel it, because I was on my back. It merely strained against the front of my underwear and the weight of the bed covers. I froze and stopped breathing. It was just morning wood—no different from any other day. Except it was different.

Daniel stirred a little. His head moved against my shoulder and he slid his hand up to my neck. His lower body shifted too, and his erection, mercifully covered by his underwear, rubbed against my leg. I gulped, let out a rush of breath, and sucked another in. The last time I woke like this, I jerked away from him in shock. Now, I lay still, my jaw twitching as I ground my teeth together. This time my arm wasn't under him but resting across my stomach, but I doubted I could slip away without disturbing him, because his arm and leg were draped across me.

I tried asking myself what was bothering me so much. Was I horrified that a gay man was draped over me, erect in sleep which was unlikely to be anything to do with me? No. Was I afraid he'd wake up and call me a faggot like Torgny had? Definitely not. Was I worried that the way my heart was pounding was more to do with excitement than anything else? Maybe a little.

Daniel grunted softly in his sleep and moved his head from my shoulder to my chest. Then he stiffened and tilted it back to look at me as he woke. "Shit." He rolled away from me. "Fuck, sorry."

"It doesn't matter." I slid out of the bed quickly and kept my back to him as I left the room. I heard him groan and swear under his breath, and couldn't help the smirk that made my lips twitch at the corners. Apparently, he was uncomfortable about the situation, too.

I showered and got ready for work. Daniel went into the bathroom the moment I came out, and I made coffee and some toast. He didn't speak apart from a grunt of thanks as he picked up the coffee I'd made him. Then there was a knock on the door. I opened it and found Ulrik outside, his bike parked in front of the building.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Forks are leaking. Can you reseal them?"

"Sure, I can do that today. You want to come in?"

"All right."

I didn't think about explaining Daniel's presence as I led him into the kitchen to get a coffee.

"Who's this?" Ulrik stared at Daniel, then me.

"Oh, uh, temporary housemate. Daniel. Ulrik," I introduced quickly.

"Hey." Daniel stuck his hand out in greeting.

"Hey." Ulrik shook his hand, then took his coffee. He glanced back at me with raised eyebrows.

"He's from out of town. Visiting," I said.

"Out of town where?"

"Malmo," Daniel replied. "I'm thinking of moving here."

"How do you know Petter?"

"I'm a—" he paused. "Former customer."

I glared at him and shoved my feet into my boots. "Let's go, shall we?" Ulrik gulped half of his coffee and followed me outside. I got in my truck and he followed me to the workshop. "Former customer?" Apparently, he wasn't about to drop it. "You've only been to Malmo once that I know of."

"Yeah, he had some Ecstasy from me. Ended up in hospital," I admitted.

"Shit. So, what's he doing here?"

"Looking for a new job and a place to live. I said he could crash for a few days."

"Fair enough." He dropped it, much to my relief, and I got to work on his bike.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Monica finds out who Petter's new housemate is, she invites them for a meal at the house. Daniel is asked to do a TV interview but has to return to Malmo to do it

I should have known that wouldn't be the end of the questions about Daniel. Ulrik wasn't a gossip, but he didn't hold much back when he talked to Sara, and she and Monica were as thick as thieves. Monica arrived at the workshop with a late lunch for me and hung around while I ate the thick sandwiches she'd made.

"You never told me you have a housemate."

"Sara tell you that?"

"Yes. Ulrik said he's from Malmo. Daniel?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you knew anyone from there."

"He's the guy who overdosed. He had some trouble—lost his job and some other stuff. He's looking for a new place to work and live."

"What does he do?"

"He's a journalist. Used to work for Aftonposten."

"Not Daniel Ferbe?"

"How would you know that?"

"Because he's well-known. I used to read his articles. He's really good."

"Yeah."

"What's he like?"

"I don't know, just a regular guy. He's all right, I suppose."

"Doing your Good Samaritan thing as usual." Monica smiled. "Did you know he's gay?"

I frowned. "And?"

"Nothing, I just wondered if you knew."

"It's not a secret."

"Okay. It's a long time since the subject came up. Sara doesn't know who Daniel is. Probably a good thing, because Ulrik's pretty homophobic."

"I don't care if he is. It's none of Ulrik's business who I have staying in my house, nor anyone else's," I retorted, more angrily than I intended.

"Whoa, Petter, calm down. It doesn't bother me. I'm just talking. How long is Daniel staying?"

"I don't know. As long as he wants. There's more going on than him losing his job. Someone tried to kill him, and he needed to get out of Malmo."

"Shit. Is it anything to do with the serial killer there? I know he wrote some articles about that and the guy was in touch with him."

"Yes, the killer wired his car and set a gas cannister in it. He didn't get in it, fortunately."

"That's awful. The poor guy. Is he okay?"

"Not really. He doesn't want to be alone for the moment."

"I'm not surprised. Doesn't he have anyone else, though? Family or friends?"

"He says not. I guess he called me because I helped him out when he overdosed."

"Well, if you want to bring him around to the house for a meal or something, I'd like to meet him," Monica said. "It might be good for him to know he's not completely alone. Apart from you, of course."

"I'll think about."

"You could just ask him."

"Right." I cleared away the sandwich wrappers and opened the can of lemonade she'd brought for me. "Have you heard from Lasse?"

Immediately, her focus was off Daniel. She turned as red as her lipstick, which she was wearing again, I noticed. I snorted. "Monica Hill blushing? Really?"

"Fuck off, Petter." She laughed.

"That's a yes, then. Is there another date on the horizon?"

"Tomorrow."

"And I thought you were taking it slow."

"We are. I am. It's just the movies."

"You want me to come over and watch the boys?"

"No, it's okay. I know you're working. My mum's coming over."

"All right. Let me know how it goes."

"Will do. I'll let you get on. Ask Daniel about lunch, okay? Sunday. I'm guessing you won't be able to have the boys this weekend."

"Fine. I'll ask." I got back to work. It shouldn't be awkward, should it? Taking my friend to hang out and have lunch with my ex-wife, the nosiest woman in Stockholm, and my kids. Great.

Daniel was working on his laptop when I got home, and something was simmering in a pot on the stove. I kicked off my boots and sat down. "You're cooking?"

"It's just one of those things where you throw everything into one pan and leave it. I thought it was the least I could do."

"Thanks, I'm starving."

"I got a message about an apartment, but it's too big for just me."

"There'll be others. It might take time."

"I don't want to outstay my welcome." He closed the laptop and smiled.

"You won't. It's no problem. Monica called at the garage today. She wants to meet you. Is that okay? She reads Aftonposten and liked your writing."

Daniel laughed. "She's a fan?"

"Something like that."

"You told her I was here?"

"Yeah, after she heard it from Ulrik's wife." I rolled my eyes. "She wants me to bring you to the house on Sunday for lunch. You can say no."

"Will your kids be there?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure that's okay?"

"What, that they meet one of my friends? Sure."

"Okay, then. Thanks. That'd be good."

"Right." I took out my phone and sent Monica a text: '2 extra for lunch Sunday.'

"The food should be done." Daniel went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two large plates of meat, potatoes, and various vegetables in sauce. "It's stew."

"Thanks." I dug in. It was pretty tasty—almost as good as the meals Monica used to make for me.

After eating, I switched on the TV to look at the news. There was another report about the killer, repeating what they'd said the day before. Nothing new had happened. The police were still "following leads." I changed the channel and found a movie instead—an espionage thriller. Daniel watched it, but constantly fidgeted. Eventually, he got up, put on coat and shoes, and went out. He came back fifteen minutes later, shivering from the cold and chewing gum.

"You all right?" I asked.

"Yeah. It's not smoking. I'll be fine in a few days."

That night, as far as I knew he slept okay. I didn't hear anything and when I got up to take a piss, there were no lights on. Perhaps being with me was helping him. We fell into a routine over the next few days, where I went to work, he looked for jobs and accommodation, and made dinner for me when I got back.

"You know, if you keep doing this, I'll not want you to move out," I joked as I finished eating chicken fajitas on Saturday.

"You might not have a choice. I still haven't found anywhere suitable. There was one yesterday, but when I called it had already gone."

On Sunday morning, we drove over to Monica's house in the truck. The boys wanted to play football and I reluctantly left Daniel at Monica's mercy and went out into the yard. When we went back in, Daniel was in the kitchen drinking wine, and chattering to Monica about God knew what. They didn't stop for the next half hour as Per, Oscar, and me played with toy cars in the living room.

We all sat around the table to eat and after, Per who was outgoing and confident for his age, wanted to show Daniel his room and his schoolwork. He liked writing and was keen to show off to a journalist.

"You don't have to," I said in a low voice.

"It's fine." Daniel followed Per to his room, and I helped Monica with the dishes.

"He's a lovely guy," Monica said.

"Is he?"

"Come on. You like him, don't you?"

"I suppose. We get on okay. Good thing we do, since he seems to be stuck with me for a while."

"He's very good-looking." She laughed a little. "More so in the flesh than in pictures."

"Jesus, Monica. What would Lasse say?"

"Nothing, since Daniel wouldn't be interested in me if I was the last woman on earth. I think he likes you, though."

"Get lost." My face heated.

"I'm just joking. Would it bother you?"

"What, if a gay guy liked me? Why are we even talking about this?" I scowled at her. I didn't like the way the conversation was going. It made me think about the night I slept next to him and enjoyed it more than I was comfortable with.

"I just wondered if… I don't know. I remembered what you told me about your friend Torgny. I know he hurt you. It wouldn't bother me, you know, if you—"

"Well, I don't," I snapped. "Get that idea out of your head, because it's not happening."

"Fine, Petter. Forget I said anything." She smiled and dried her hands. "I like him, anyway. I'm glad he's staying in Stockholm. It'll be nice having a male friend who's not interested in anything with me apart from gossiping."

We left shortly after. I felt uncomfortable in Daniel's presence for the first time in days and didn't speak as I drove.

"Monica's lovely," he said suddenly.

"She said the same about you," I grumbled. "Maybe you should move in with her."

He stared at me. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No."

"Okay." He turned away to look out the window and didn't speak again. The tension grew and by the time I parked the truck and got out, I felt like I should smooth things over. I was being an arse and only because of what Monica had said to me.

I kicked my boots off in the hall and hung up my jacket. "I'm sorry," I grunted.

He shrugged. "Do you want me to go to a hotel? I only meant it to be a couple of days. I just didn't think it would be so hard to find an apartment."

"No, I don't want you to go to a hotel."

"But I'm in the way. You seem pissed off with me."

"I'm not. Stay until you find somewhere. I mean it. I'm sorry," I repeated with a sigh.

"All right. If you're sure."

"I'm sure." I reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Immediately, he smiled. I snatched my hand away and went to get a beer out of the fridge. Suddenly, I didn't like the idea of him finding somewhere to live. I'd got used to having him around and somehow it was more than that. I just wasn't ready to accept I liked him in any way other than a friend.

A few days later, Daniel had both a request for a TV interview about his interaction with the serial killer, and a text about an apartment. The moment the text arrived, he called the number and arranged to see the place before anyone else could get in. It was a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a new block in the city centre. I thought it was expensive, but I didn't say anything. He could apparently afford it. I dropped him off in the truck on my way to pick up some motorcycle parts and picked him up an hour later. I found him standing outside the block with a smile on his face. I pulled up and he got in.

"Good news?"

"Yes, it's available. Or it was, until I paid the deposit twenty minutes ago." He grinned. "I get the keys in two weeks. Then you can get rid of me."

"Shut up. I told you I don't mind you staying. But I'm glad you found a place. What's it like?"

"Spacious, modern, clean. Similar to my old place, but without the clutter—yet."

"That's good."

"I spoke to the TV people again while I was waiting. They want me to do the interview on Friday." His smile disappeared. "In Malmo. I wouldn't even consider it, but they're paying the equivalent of three months' salary for it. I mean, I have to go back there at some point to get my stuff anyway."

"I'll go with you," I said without hesitation.

"You don't have to, Petter. You've done enough for me."

"You really want to go to Malmo alone with that psycho still on the loose?" I glanced at him and he shook his head. "What time is the interview?"

"Three in the afternoon."

"So, we'll set off early in the morning and drive down. We can pick up the stuff from your apartment either before or after, then leave right away."

"I can't ask you to drive twelve hours in one day. That's crazy."

"You can drive my truck some of the way. Or we'll stop at a motel somewhere Friday night on the way back. Whatever." I shrugged. "I'm going."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

I didn't voice my thoughts, but I could imagine the entire trip being a nightmare for Daniel. Not only was the serial killer still at large in Malmo but being interviewed about it was bound to affect him. Another worry that I kept to myself, was whether the killer knew where Daniel had lived. He'd tampered with Daniel's car twice, so who was to say he hadn't done something to the apartment also? I reminded myself to take my gun, just in case.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter goes back to Malmo with Daniel. Back home, Daniel collapses with relief and shock when the announcement comes that the killer has been caught

I arranged my bookings at the bike shop to leave Friday and Saturday clear. The Mobsters had a meeting on Wednesday evening, and Adam updated us on how the operations were going that he had now taken over along with a few of the others. I felt distanced from the gang in a way I hadn't before. I had no intention of getting involved with drugs again, and the war with the other gang, the Delincuentas, was long over. Adam even saw Roger, their leader, for a drink now and then, and their wives were friends. I found myself wishing I was home watching TV with Daniel, or having a meal and a few beers instead. By the time I got home at midnight, he had gone to bed.

Friday morning, we set off in the truck at five, with the intention of reaching Malmo before lunch. We made one stop for fuel, coffee, and a bathroom break, and reached Daniel's old apartment a little before noon. I had my gun tucked into the back of my jeans, hidden by my jacket. It was probably unnecessary, but the killer was clearly insane and had made one failed attempt to kill Daniel. Maybe he didn't like being thwarted that way.

Daniel unlocked the apartment door and swung it open. The hallway was in darkness and he stepped in. A number of scenarios ran through my head about what could be waiting in there, and I grabbed him roughly and hauled him back out the door. His back bumped against my chest as he lost his balance, and he yelped in shock.

"Petter, what—?"

"Just wait a minute." I slid my hand down from his shoulder to the middle of his chest and held him against me as I pulled the gun out of the back of my pants. He leaned on me and shivered. I quickly let him go. "Sorry, I just thought he might have done something if he knows where you live." I stepped past him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

I didn't really know what I was doing. I crept into the apartment like a special ops agent on dangerous territory, the gun brandished in front of me in case I needed to use it. There was no sign of anything out of place and no sound. I looked at every corner and doorway, the floor and ceiling, checking for wires or suspicious objects, but there didn't seem to be any and there had been no sign that the apartment door had been tampered with.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," I said, lowering the gun.

"No, you were right. If he found out I lived here, he could have set a trap or a bomb. Anything." He went back and closed the door. "I'm glad you're here."

I followed him around while he packed up his belongings. The apartment had been rented furnished, so most of his things were personal items, plus cutlery and crockery, bedding, bathroom stuff and so on. It filled three boxes and a suitcase. Two trips down to the truck had it all stashed in the back seats. Then he locked the door for the last time and I drove him to the agents' to hand in the keys. He still had to pay two months' rent, which he did in full while at the office. Then we grabbed some sandwiches for lunch and headed for the TV studio.

I was able to sit in the "Green Room" while Daniel was interviewed, and watch everything that happened. He looked nervous while he talked about his experiences and contact with the killer known as the Truth Terrorist, including the fake bomb in his car, and the gassing he'd narrowly avoided. He added that he had been terrified entering his apartment to collect his things, in case the killer had found out where it was and done something there. Then he dropped in quickly that he had moved to Gothenburg for the moment, then gasped and asked them to edit that out. I smiled to myself. If the information was leaked, at least anyone looking for him would be on the wrong scent.

When we returned to my truck, even though it was parked in the studio carpark which had entry barriers and cameras everywhere, we opened the doors carefully, checked everything over for suspicious wires, and inspected underneath the truck and in the engine well before I put the key in the ignition, leaving the doors open and Daniel outside, just in case. Finally, I started the engine and nothing happened. Daniel climbed in and closed the door.

"I feel stupid now." He laughed a little, but his hands shook as he put his seatbelt on.

"Don't. We can't be too careful until he's caught."

We left Malmo immediately. I drove for an hour until Daniel relaxed, then we switched and he drove as far as Jonkoping. We were about halfway home, but we were both tired and decided to find somewhere to get a meal and crash for the night. Daniel pulled into the parking area at the back of a hotel which had a "Vacancies" sign out front. They didn't have any single rooms free, but we paid for a twin, checked in, then went down to the restaurant and bar. We ate steak and drank a few beers before retiring to the room.

Nothing disturbed me that night. I fell asleep in my chosen bed and woke to find Daniel snoring softly in the other bed. I got up, took a shower, and put my clothes back on, then made coffee. He didn't wake until I was on my second cup.

We ate a quick breakfast in the restaurant and were back on the road in an hour. Three hours later, we reached my apartment. Daniel threw himself onto the sofa and stretched out. "It's good to be home." Then he laughed. "Well, it's not home for me for much longer."

"Bet you can't wait to have your own place again. Move." I pushed his legs off the couch and sat down.

"I'll miss you," he said. He didn't look at me, and I wondered if there could be anything in what Monica said. Did he like me like that? Maybe it was just as well he wasn't going to be here for much longer. But I knew I'd miss him too.

A couple of days later, Daniel had a call from the paper he'd applied for a job at, inviting him to an interview the next Monday. Everything seemed to be going well for him at last. If only the cops in Malmo would catch the killer.

Monica called the next day and invited us for lunch on Sunday again. "I know you can't really have the boys staying while Daniel's there, but it'd be nice for them to see you for a few hours."

"Of course I'll come," I said at once.

"And Daniel?"

"Fine. I'll bring him if you can manage to not gossip about me with him."

She laughed. "He can be my confidante about Lasse instead."

"You can talk to me. How's it going?"

"Well, so far. I really like him."

"Good." I wasn't going to ask if she'd slept with him yet. There were some things I probably shouldn't pry into, although I doubted she'd think it was a secret anyway. Let her tell Daniel if there was anything to tell.

We all ate lunch together as before. Per showed Daniel his latest piece of writing, then the boys went into Oscar's room to play a game. I switched on the TV and Monica brought the remains of the wine in from the kitchen.

"Here, Daniel, it wants drinking." She passed him a half full glass. "You've had enough, Petter, you're driving."

I shrugged and sat down. The news was on. Daniel took the glass of wine and sipped it. He and Monica were still standing as he told her he would be round for dinner every chance he got when he left my place. I rolled my eyes.

The news reader ended her segment and switched to a reporter in Malmo who announced with obvious relief that the serial killer known as the Truth Terrorist had finally been caught. He was a Danish ex-police officer named Jens Hansen. The reporter continued to recite details of the victims. Daniel's glass hit the floor and broke, splashing wine across my feet. He sank to his knees, thankfully missing the broken glass.

"Daniel!" Monica put her own glass down on a table and touched his shoulder. "Petter—"

I got up quickly and crouched beside him. He was shaking from head to foot and gasping for breath.

"I think it's a panic attack," Monica said.

"Daniel." I gripped his arms. "Look at me."

He didn't seem to hear me and his face had lost all of its colour.

"Hey, come on." I shook him a little. "Take deep breaths. Stand up." I got to my feet and pulled him up with me. "It's over. They got him."

He rested his hands on my chest and clutched my shirt. He didn't seem to be aware of what was going on. Ignoring Monica, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him.

"It's okay, it's over," I repeated. "It's okay."

He started to breathe more normally and slid his arms around me, too. I ran my hand up and down his back and squeezed his shoulder. He pressed his face into my neck and I felt warm breath on my skin. I held him tighter against me. Monica slipped out of the room and closed the door.

"Come here. Sit down." I loosened my grip and drew him over to the couch to sit down. He leaned against me, eyes closed. I didn't know what to say or do, so I just kept one arm draped around him.

"I'm sorry about the glass," he said at last.

"The hell with the glass. Are you okay?"

"I'm just… in shock, I think. They really caught him?"

"Yes, and he's locked up without bail. He's confessed, they said. He won't be getting out, ever. You want to go home?"

"Yes."

I got up and left the room to get his coat and my jacket.

"Is he okay?" Monica asked worriedly.

"Yeah."

"You care about him," she said softly.

I frowned. "Not now. Okay?"

"Sure. But talk to me when you're ready."

I ignored her and went back into the living room. Daniel got up and put his coat on. He seemed a little better, but he didn't speak as I drove back to the apartment, or when we were inside and I'd taken his coat off him.

I made tea and he nursed the mug, sipping it, until the colour finally returned to his face. "I'm going to bed." He went to the bathroom, then the bedroom that had become his lately, leaving the door open.

I took my turn in the bathroom and stripped down to my tee shirt and underwear. It was early and I wasn't ready to go to bed, but I didn't want to stay up alone either. It occurred to me that Daniel probably wanted company. He didn't usually leave his door open. My heart began to pound and my palms grew sweaty as I hid in the bathroom, wondering whether I should just walk in the room and get in bed with him, or say something first. Or perhaps I should go to the kids' room as usual and wait to see if he asked for my company.

I stared at myself in the mirror and dragged a hand through the long strands of hair on top of my head. The sides needed shaving again, and my face had a couple of days' stubble surrounding my moustache and goatee. I got out my shaving kit and tidied up my face, although I didn't start shaving the sides of my head. Monica or Sara always did that for me. I cleaned my teeth for the second time, needing an excuse to hide in the bathroom for a few more minutes, while I tried to get control of my stupid nervousness. The knot in my stomach threatened to crawl into my throat and choke me. I could hear Monica's voice in my head: "You care about him."

Sure I did. He was my friend. But I knew she didn't mean that. When he collapsed on the floor and I picked him up, I didn't hold him like a friend would.

I stopped wasting time and opened the door, then hovered in the hallway outside the bedroom The room was fairly dark, but I could make out the shape of Daniel's body under the covers. I walked slowly towards the bed.

"You want company?"

"Yes," he said softly.

I slid under the covers and rested on my side facing him. My heart slammed against my ribs and my breathing was ragged. I probably sounded like I'd been running. I stretched my arm out across the mattress until my hand was under his neck. "Come here."

He moved close to me without hesitation, and rested his hand on my chest, right where he would feel my heart pounding. He tilted his head down and tucked his face into my neck. I folded my arms around him and forced myself to calm down. Nothing was going to happen. It was just a cuddle—comfort more than anything else. He didn't try to make it anything else. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths until my pulse gradually slowed and I was able to relax. I doubted I would sleep. It was early and I was still uneasy, but as Daniel's breathing deepened and became soft snores, I found myself drifting away too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter and Daniel play in bed, but the next morning Petter is convinced Daniel regrets it

When I opened my eyes it was still dark. For a moment I was disoriented until I realised I was in my own bed with Daniel. We hadn't moved in sleep and he was moulded to me with his leg hooked over me. He had pulled his head back and it rested on the pillow, his nose a couple of centimetres away from mine. I was hard and my clothed erection rested against his crotch. I stopped breathing and my pulse quickened. I should slide away from him but I couldn't move. My groin ached and I longed for just a little bit of friction. Did it really matter that it was Daniel I was with? He was hard, too, and as I thought about it, he moved and rubbed himself against me. He seemed to be asleep so I doubted it was intentional, but I couldn't suppress a soft groan of pleasure. I slid my hand down to his hip to push him off me and felt warm skin where his tee shirt had ridden up. My fingers crept around to the small of his back, and I held him against me instead of pushing him away.

His breathing changed and I knew he'd woken. Then he tensed as if he realised his predicament and intended to pull away. I didn't want him to. It felt too good, having him against me like this. It didn't matter, did it? I moved my face a little closer until our noses bumped. He breathed in suddenly and I felt his erection twitch against me. My heartrate rocketed and my breathing quickened. Then Daniel's lips brushed mine. It was barely a kiss—merely a light touch—before he pulled back a fraction and broke the connection. It seemed like an invitation—an indication of what he wanted, but leaving me to decide if I would accept it.

I covered his mouth with mine and pressed our lips more firmly together. I could barely breathe as I tentatively kissed him, angling my head a little so we fitted together perfectly. The tip of his tongue touched the inside of my upper lip, and I stroked his tongue with mine. He groaned and slid his arm around my neck.

I didn't think about what I was doing or what might happen next—I just went with instinct. Kissing him felt incredible. It stoked a fire in me that had been missing for a long time. I hadn't been with anyone since Monica and I decided to downgrade our marriage to friends almost eighteen months ago. I deepened the kiss and thrust my tongue into his mouth. He moaned and kissed me back harder. He caressed the back of my neck and ran his fingers through my hair. Then he stroked his way down over my chest and pulled up the front of my tee shirt to touch my stomach. My dick jumped and it was my turn to groan again. Daniel rolled his hips and rubbed himself against me, letting me feel more of his erection. His hand crept lower between us and cupped the straining bulge in my underwear. I tore my mouth from his. "Fuck."

His hand stilled. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," I whispered breathlessly. There was no turning back now. I had to feel his hand on me or I'd explode. I reached down and pulled my dick free of my underwear. When Daniel's hand curled around it and gave me a couple of slow strokes, I almost bit through my lip. "Fucking Christ," I muttered.

He kissed the corner of my mouth and continued jerking me, slow and firm, and rubbed his thumb over my leaking tip. I pressed my face into his neck and slipped my hand under the back of his tee shirt. I explored smooth warm skin and followed the ridge of his spine up and down, then dipped my fingers into the back of his boxer briefs and squeezed his arse. He hummed his approval, then took his hand off me. I protested with a groan. He nibbled his way along my jaw as he fumbled between us, then grasped me again. This time he had his dick in his hand too, and he stroked us both together. I moaned and swore at the feel of his erection sliding again mine. He was wet with precome and it eased the movement of our flesh against each other. My balls pulled up and I realised it was about to be the fastest orgasm I'd had since my teens.

I kissed him again, wanting to drive my tongue into his mouth but finding it impossible to do that and breathe. Instead I brushed my lips over his and nibbled at his mouth, panting and moaning my pleasure as I did so.

"Fuck," he muttered against my mouth. "I'm going to—"

Warm fluid splashed my groin and coated my erection. A couple more strokes of his hand and I came with hard spurts, my body trembling. "Jesus, fuck."

Daniel slid his leg off me and fumbled with his clothing. I tucked myself away and made a half-hearted attempt at wiping myself with the bottom of my tee shirt. I should get out of bed and clean up properly, but my legs shook and I didn't want to spoil the moment. Instead, I pulled Daniel close to me again and wrapped my arm around his waist. He held onto me too, and gradually my breathing slowed. I wondered if I should say something but I couldn't think of a single word. Eventually, I slipped into sleep again.

When I woke I was alone. Sounds from the kitchen indicated Daniel was up making coffee or something. I scratched my stomach and grimaced as I found dried come there. Then the events of the night came rushing back and I rubbed my hands over my hot face. Shit. I didn't regret it but the fact that I'd liked it so much made me nervous. I got out of bed and crossed the room, trying to think of something to say to him. What if he kissed me the moment he saw me as if we were suddenly together? What if he regretted it?

I headed for the kitchen and Daniel rushed by me, his coat half on and his phone in his hand. "Hey, I have to go to my interview, I overslept, it's in an hour," he babbled.

"You want a ride?"

"No, it's no problem, I ordered a taxi, it'll be here any second." He finished pulling on his coat, put on shoes, and collected his keys from the hook on the hall. "Wish me luck, see you later." The door slammed behind him before I could respond with "Good luck," or anything else.

"Shit." I made myself some coffee, feeling a little sick. He regretted it and couldn't get out of the house fast enough. He would avoid me as long as possible. If we didn't live together I'd probably never see him again. Just like Torgny. Only it wasn't the same. Torgny had apparently been experimenting when he was drunk, or simply making use of the only hand available. Daniel was gay but just didn't want a repeat performance of a middle-of-the-night fumble with someone he saw as a friend and comforter—nothing more. It surprised me how crushed I felt. Monica was right. I did care about him. I had feelings for him that had crept up on me without me realising, or without me being willing to acknowledge them.

I gulped my coffee and poured another cup, which only made me feel sicker. My stomach was in knots and I dreaded seeing Daniel later. I showered and drove to the workshop, glad that I had a busy day with several bikes booked in for work.

Despite being busy, the day crawled by and I thought about him constantly. Every time my personal phone rang, I dropped what I was doing and grabbed it in case it was him but he didn't call. Several times I contemplated calling Monica, but what could I tell her? I kissed Daniel and he jerked us both off. Then he rushed out the house like a bat out of hell and I didn't know what to do. I'd sound like a fucking idiot. Besides, I didn't really want to discuss it with my ex-wife, even though she knew about what had happened with Torgny. She'd understand and probably give me the best advice I'd get anywhere while I quietly died of embarrassment.

Finally, the day ended. I bought groceries on the way home in an attempt to delay seeing him for another half hour. I hadn't eaten all day and I was starving, while at the same time I still felt sick and anxious and couldn't imagine eating anything. When I parked the truck outside my apartment and reluctantly let myself in, I was sweating and my blood rushed in my ears as my heart banged against my ribs.

"Hey." Daniel appeared out of the kitchen with a can of beer in his hand which he held out to me. He grinned. "We're celebrating."

Surprised, I took the can. "Are we?"

"I got the job!"

"That's fantastic." I relaxed and smiled. "They decided quickly."

"It was already in the bag. They saw my TV interview and they've read some of the articles I wrote. They overlooked the reason I got fired from Aftonposten because it's not something that would be relevant to their paper. But they don't want me as a columnist—I'm going to be a major contributor! They're interviewing someone else for the column tomorrow." He beamed from ear to ear. "My reputation goes before me, and not badly like I imagined. I start there next Monday."

"Congratulations." I switched hands with the can of beer, intending to shake his hand, but it seemed too impersonal. Even if last night hadn't happened, we were friends and housemates. I reached out to give him a one-armed hug instead. He returned it tightly for a couple of seconds, then quickly twisted away and strode back into the kitchen.

"I'm making chili!" he called back over his shoulder. "It's just a packet sauce."

"We could have gone out," I heard myself say. "Celebrate properly."

"It's fine. Maybe at the weekend or something."

"Okay." I hovered in the doorway for a minute. He was stirring something in a pan and ignored me, so eventually I went to take off my jacket and boots, and switched on the TV. Disappointment hit me again. Last night had been the heat of the moment and it was over. In a week, he'd be starting his job and moving to his apartment. I probably wouldn't see much of him after that. I felt as if I'd fulfilled my usefulness. Even the Truth Terrorist was behind bars, and Daniel simply didn't need me anymore.

We ate and drank a couple of beers, mostly in silence. Then Daniel told me about his interview and the paper he was going to work for. He'd spent part of the afternoon looking at new cars and had already put down a deposit on one. "Not an Escalade," he said. "I can't look at those anymore without freaking out. I'm getting a Nissan GTR."

"Nice."

Things seemed fairly normal. He avoided looking at me most of the time, but he talked the same as always. But what happened in the night appeared to be a one-off, to be forgotten as if it had never happened.

The news was full of the Truth Terrorist for days afterwards and we didn't watch it. One evening I went to Monica's house and spent time with the kids while she went on a date with Lasse. At the weekend, she took them to her parents' house overnight so I didn't see them, and the Sunday lunch with Daniel didn't happen. Instead, I worked extra and hung out with some of the Mobsters. When I got home, he'd gone to bed, presumably wanting an early night before his first day at work.

He was ready to go before eight in the morning and had a taxi collect him. He intended to pick up his new car at lunchtime and the day after, the keys for his apartment would be available. He would soon be gone and neither of us had mentioned the elephant in the room. Sometimes I caught him looking at me with longing in his eyes, but I wrote it off as my imagination. He didn't want me. He hadn't been able to get away fast enough after that night. I put it out of my mind as much as I could. Perhaps I should do what Monica had once said and get out more. She had found what seemed to be heading in the direction of love, and Daniel was moving on with his new life, while I stayed where I'd been for a long time—alone and lonely.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monica talks to Petter and encourages him to have a conversation with Daniel

"Hey, are you busy?"

I looked up from the bike I was working on to find Monica there with a pack of food in her hand.

"I can take a break." I straightened up and cleaned my hands. "You know, you don't have to keep doing this. Shouldn't you be taking sandwiches to Lasse instead?"

She grinned. "I meet him for lunch sometimes. But you're my friend and he knows you're always going to be in my life, for the boys at the very least. So, how's Daniel?"

"Okay, I guess. He moved out on Tuesday." That had been three days ago, and I hadn't heard from him, except a text to say he'd forgotten a pair of shoes and he'd pick them up at the weekend.

"Do you miss him?"

"I suppose the place is quiet without him."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

I sighed and shoved a bite of sandwich into my mouth, so I didn't have to say anything for a minute. Monica stared at me in silence until I finished chewing and raised her eyebrows.

"What do you want me to say?" I grumbled.

"Remember when you were both at the house and the news said the killer had been caught? I asked if you cared about him."

"No, you stated it."

"And you said, 'not now.' Like we'd talk about it another time. You know you can."

"What's there to say? He's my friend. He stayed while he found a place to live and a job, and he has those now."

"But you'll still see him, won't you?"

I shrugged.

"Did something happen?"

"Like what?" My face grew hot and I put the sandwich aside. Another bite could possibly choke me.

"I don't know. Like with Torgny."

"You're not going to drop this, are you?"

"No, I'm not. You forget how well I know you. You feel a lot and you never talk until it's pried out of you. Remember when we first got together? I could see how you felt about me. It was in every look, and everything you did, but you wouldn't say anything in case I threw it back in your face."

"And why do you think that was? Huh?"

"Because you were rejected before, by someone who you thought was your friend. So, tell me about Daniel. Who else do you have to talk to about this stuff?"

"Something happened," I said before I could stop myself. Then I groaned and closed my eyes. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

"When?"

"That night after he collapsed."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Did you have sex?"

"Jesus, Monica! No! It was just… it wasn't much. I slept with him because he was shaken up and we—well, you know. Played." My face burned.

Monica rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you. I'm just trying to work out what's got you so upset. I highly doubt he woke up in the morning, insulted you, and told you to leave him alone."

"No, I woke up alone. He was rushing around getting ready for his job interview. He shot out of the house before I could say anything," I said.

"And what would you have said? Nothing. Petter, do you like him or not? The look on your face when he saw that news report and you wrapped your arms around him, told me you do. More than like him."

"For fuck's sake," I muttered.

"You want my opinion?"

"I'm sure I'll get it whether I do or not."

She smiled. "It's my guess that he more than likes you, too. He probably didn't expect whatever happened to happen, because you're straight. Or he thinks that's the case. So, he'll avoid talking about it, or having it get close to happening again, because he doesn't want to get hurt. Am I making sense to you?"

"Yes, all right? Yes."

"Can you imagine yourself with him?"

"Not really."

"Why? Because he's a guy and well, you're a Mobster. That would never do, would it?"

"No, because of—" I fucking hated talking about this shit. I wanted to die right there rather than say anything else, but what she said to me about Daniel kind of made sense and it made my heart skip. "Because if I do anything and I'm wrong—"

"You'll get hurt," Monica finished. "The pair of you are as bad as each other. Talk to him. At least invite him for a drink or something, or he could very well keep his distance now he's got his own place."

"And what do you think about it? If I was to be with—?"

"A man? It wouldn't bother me. Not at all. I want you to be happy, Petter. It doesn't matter if it's a guy that does that for you. We had a lot of happy years together. I thought maybe you were bi after you told me about Torgny, or it could have just been an experiment. Whatever. I wasn't worried about it because I knew you've never cheat or hurt me. But we're not married anymore. We're friends. I'm happy with Lasse. I want you to be happy with whoever and if that's Daniel, then great. He's amazing and the kids like him. Don't let him slip away if you want him."

"Shit," I mumbled.

Monica smiled and suddenly wrapped her arms around me, giving me a firm hug. "I love you, Petter. Talk to him. Maybe take a crowbar with you to wrench the words out of your mouth." She let go of me and laughed. "See you Sunday?"

"How about Saturday? It's about time the boys came to my place again."

"All right. Pick them up when you're ready." She left me alone.

I thought about what she said for the rest of the day. Was she right? Or was I about to make the biggest fool of myself and regret it? Was it worth the risk? Maybe I should wait around until he came to me, but was that likely? He may never make a move if he thought that night had been a one-off and that I didn't really want a man.

"Shit." I snatched up my phone and called Monica on her mobile. "I just remembered. He sent me a text to say he'll come round at the weekend to get something he left."

She laughed. "Let's just do Sunday lunch. You can have the boys next weekend instead."

"Okay. Great." I hung up and got back to work. It was going to be a long Friday night while I waited for him to come and pick up his shoes 'at the weekend.'

When I got home that evening, I couldn't be bothered to make myself anything to eat. I wasn't that hungry anyway. The persistent knot in my stomach made me feel as if I'd throw up if I ate. It was worse than before now I'd decided to say something to Daniel and risk making myself look like a complete dick. I paced around, tried to watch TV, and drank several beers. Then Ulrik called.

"You want to come over to ours for a drink?" he asked.

"I can't tonight, I'm busy," I lied. I'd be lousy company.

"Oh, the housemate. Sara read something about him after she talked to Monica. He's a queer. Did you know that?"

"What the hell does that matter?" I snapped. "He moved out anyway."

"At least you won't have to keep your back to the wall anymore," he said in a sneering tone, then laughed a little.

"Fuck off, Ulrik. I never realised you were such a bigot."

"That's nice. Look, Petter, just call me whenever." He hung up abruptly.

"Fuck," I muttered. I put the phone back in my pocket and went to the fridge to get another beer. Someone knocked on the door and I left the beer where it was, grumbling to myself as I went to find out who had dared interrupt my evening. Glowering, I yanked the door open. "Oh!"

"Were you expecting someone else?" Daniel asked. "I can come back some other time."

"No, I'm not expecting anyone. Come in. You don't have to knock, you know, you still have a key."

"I wouldn't feel right about walking in now I don't live here. I should give you the key back anyway." He closed the door and followed me down the hall. "I came to get my shoes."

"It's not the weekend yet," I pointed out gruffly.

"Look, I'll just go. I can see it's a bad time."

I spun around, cursing myself for sounding so unwelcoming and unpleasant. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I was about to have a beer. Do you want one?"

"If you don't mind me hanging around for a while," he said warily.

"I don't mind. I wanted to talk to you anyway." I grabbed two beers and passed him one. I'd never felt less like talking in my life, and that was saying something. "Give me your coat."

He shrugged out of the checked coat and I hung it up for him. When I entered the living room, he was sitting at one end of the couch. I sat in the middle, rather than at the other end. I couldn't think of how to start this. I wanted to spit the words out and get it over with, but he looked as uncomfortable as I felt, and I'd probably made him that way. "How's your new job going?" I asked instead.

"It's great." He relaxed and began to tell me about his office—he had his own—and a couple of his colleagues, and an article he'd already written for the paper. He was animated and funny, like when I first got to know him. Like he always was until we touched each other and spoiled things. Maybe I should leave things as they were. It was good like this. Why ruin it?

I smiled at him. "What about the car?"

Off he went again, with a detailed description of the powerful beast he was now driving. Its only failing was having lousy boot space to carry things he bought for his apartment. The Escalade had been much better for that.

"If you want anything picking up, just let me know. Or you can borrow my truck," I put in.

"Thanks, that'd be great. Have you been busy?"

It had only been a few days since he moved out, but almost two weeks since that night and we hadn't talked like this in that time. My pounding heart told me I still needed to bring the subject up, but fear of rejection stopped me every time I found a roughly suitable opportunity. A couple of hours ticked by and we started to run out of things to say.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," Daniel said suddenly, and met my eyes. "Was it only about how everything's going for me?"

I held his gaze for a few seconds until I lost my nerve, then looked down at my hands and fiddled with one of my rings. Damn it, Petter. Grow a pair, for fuck's sake, I thought. "No, that wasn't it," I managed to say. "It was about—" I licked my lips which had gone dry. "You know. What happened." I paused again and coughed. "Between us."

"Oh, well, you don't have to say anything. Really, don't worry about it. I know it was because I was a complete mess. I needed you and you were comforting me. I'd forgotten about it, to be honest," he babbled. I glanced up at him. I wasn't great at guessing what was going on in people's heads, but it was easy for even me to see that he was miserable.

"You really think comforting someone would make me come?" I blurted.

"Well, I—" He sighed. "No. I just didn't want to think it was anything else. Most people experiment when they're much younger, but I know you were with Monica for years and maybe didn't have the opportunity or didn't want it. I don't know. I thought, maybe it was something you wondered about and I was there and—" He paused and dragged a hand through his hair. "I can't be your experiment, Petter. I'd get too involved and I can do without getting hurt like that."

"Will you shut up and listen?" I huffed out a breath. "I hate talking about this shit, but here we are." I picked up my half empty beer can and drained it. "I'm not experimenting. I did that a long time ago, sort of inadvertently."

"What?" His eyes widened. "What happened?"

"I was nineteen. I had this friend, Torgny, a biker. We used to go to bike events—music festivals with camping. We went to one and had a few beers. I didn't drink much then and it went to my head. Then in the tent, I guess he thought he'd experiment with me. Or maybe he was just drunk and horny. I don't know. Some stuff happened." I flushed as I thought about it.

"He touched you?" Daniel prompted.

I grunted.

"You don't have to give me details. You got each other off, am I right?"

"Yes. Then he kissed me, and we went to sleep. In the morning he called me a faggot and cleared off, leaving me with all the gear to pack up, and having no clue what I'd done wrong. I tried calling him a week later, but he hung up. I never saw him again."

"Fucking hell," Daniel muttered. "What a bastard. Even if he freaked out over it, that's out of order."

"Well, that's how it was. I didn't do it again. I don't know what would have happened if he'd wanted to keep doing it. I don't think I was attracted to him. I liked what we did though. I was just shocked, I guess, and hurt that I lost my friend. I had a few casual things with girls. Then I met Monica."

"And you never thought about guys?"

"Not while I was with her. Not until I met you," I admitted.

"Are you attracted to me?"

"Yes." Finally, I looked at him again. "I'm not experimenting, Daniel. That night with you wasn't just fooling around. I wanted you. I'd been thinking about it for a while and trying not to. I was too gutless to make a move before then, in case you did the same thing Torgny did."

Now, he smiled, and reached out to slip his hand into mine. "I wouldn't have done that."

"But you couldn't get out of here fast enough in the morning."

"I was scared you'd hate for me for it. I couldn't bear to see you look at me in a different way to what you had been doing. So, I pretended it hadn't happened and you seemed to want to go along with that. So yeah. Here we are."

I grinned and squeezed his hand. "Here we are."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Petter and Daniel spend some time together and things head in the right direction

Relief flooded through me as I sat holding Daniel's hand. I didn't think about what might be around the corner, or how we would be together, or how I would deal with people knowing about me being with him if and when they found out—I thought only about the moment. He felt the same way I did, and I no longer had to worry about rejection. Monica was right. I could imagine the grin on her face when she found out I actually talked to him.

"What do you want to do now?" Daniel asked. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No." My stomach rumbled to remind me.

"Me neither. I was anxious about seeing you."

"Were you?"

"Even though I knew it wasn't likely, I still hoped that maybe—" He shrugged and smiled. "This is why I don't get involved with people. I pretended it didn't bother me, but I was upset when my professor ditched me. Up until that night you and I were together, I never expected anything. I kept telling myself you were just caring and friendly and there was nothing in it, but I still started to have feelings for you."

Hearing that, my heart swelled, and I squeezed his hand more firmly. It seemed natural to lean over and give him a kiss on the lips. He returned it warmly, although it didn't deepen.

"We should have something to eat." My stomach protested its emptiness again. "It's not that late. It'll have to be takeaway, though. I haven't much in."

"Unless you want to go out somewhere? Or maybe you don't want to be seen actually out with me. I don't know."

"Why wouldn't I want to be seen with you?" I frowned.

"Because people know who I am. I don't broadcast it but It's no secret I'm gay."

I immediately thought of Ulrik. "I know one of the Mobsters is homophobic," I said. "Ulrik, the one you met briefly. But if any of them don't like it, fuck them. I'm their President. They can accept it or keep their mouths shut."

"Wow. I thought you'd probably want to keep things quiet." Daniel smiled.

"Well, I'm not going to a gay bar, or to that Pride thing." I grimaced at the thought. "But I'm not ashamed either."

"You know, we haven't even talked about what it is between us. I mean, you admitted you're attracted to me. But are we going to see each other? Like, um, dating?"

"Well, yeah," I said, as if it were obvious.

He laughed a little. "Let's just keep it quiet for now, okay? I haven't run into that much trouble personally, but there's always someone who wants to make things difficult. You haven't had the time to think about this properly, have you?"

"No," I admitted. I imagined myself arriving at a meeting with the Mobsters, and Ulrik announcing to the rest of them: "Here's our fag leader." I doubted he would do that, but I expected him to say something to me in private and it wouldn't be pleasant. I had no idea about the others.

"Well, there's no need to announce it to everyone." Daniel got to his feet and pulled me up. "Let's go and get food and a couple of beers. I don't expect you to hold my hand or kiss me in public." He smirked. "Not yet anyway."

I stared at him in alarm. I couldn't imagine myself doing that. I'd never been into public displays of affection. I hadn't even held Monica's hand in public, except on our wedding day.

Daniel chuckled. "Stop worrying so much. I haven't had a date in ten years; you know that. When I was with the professor, he never came near me in public because I was his student. He'd have got in the shit for it. So really, this is new to me too. To anybody out there who sees us, we're just a couple of friends hanging out together."

I relaxed and grinned. "It's not just about you. Even when I was with Monica, I never kissed her in front of anyone except when we got married."

"So, stop worrying about it, then. I'm not going to try and change you in that way. It'd be nice if you kissed me within these four walls, though. Or my four walls." He leaned closer and kissed the corner of my mouth. "Come on, I'm starving." He let go of me, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.

A couple of minutes later we were in Daniel's new car heading for the centre of the city. "I feel like I'm sitting on the road," I said.

"It's not that low. It's just a lot different to your truck."

"Have you ever been on a bike?"

"No." He glanced at me briefly and smiled. "I could be persuaded to ride on the back of yours. I'd look hot in leathers."

I grinned. "Shut up. You look hot anyway."

He looked at me again. "Are you flirting with me, Petter?"

"I wouldn't know how to. Keep your eyes on the road. You don't want to crash this nice car."

I enjoyed the banter. Now everything was out in the open, there were no awkward silences, and I didn't feel like I had to watch what I said—not that I said much ordinarily. Daniel chattered away like he always did but he didn't hold back on teasing me or being what I guessed was flirty, until we parked outside a bar. Then he switched back to the way he had always been with me—still talkative, but only in a casual friendly way.

We ordered burgers because it was the fastest thing for the servers to prepare and drank beer while we waited. My phone beeped with a text and I checked it quickly. "Have you talked to him yet?"

I groaned. "It's Monica," I explained as Daniel glanced at me. "I sort of talked to her."

"About me?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"That I should talk to you. She knows how useless I am at it, but she made me see I didn't have anything to lose—except maybe you if I didn't lay my cards on the table."

Daniel grinned. "Monica is awesome. Are you going to answer her?"

"I suppose, or she'll just call me." I tapped out a quick message: "We are on a date." The reply came in seconds—a row of emojis with hearts for eyes. I smirked and put the phone away. "She approves."

"She doesn't care that you want to be with a—well, me?"

"No. She just wants me to be happy and she likes you." I finished the last bite of my burger and pushed the plate aside. "I'm still hungry. Do you want dessert?"

"The chocolate brownies here are pretty amazing," Daniel said.

We ordered some with ice cream and he was right—they were delicious. When the bill came, Daniel pulled out his wallet. "I'll get this. We're celebrating my new job, remember? And the salary is a lot more than what was advertised for the columnist."

"In that case, I'm not going to argue."

We went outside to the car and got in. "What do you want to do now?" Daniel asked. "I can drop you off home, or—" He left the sentence hanging.

"I haven't seen your apartment yet," I reminded him. "I could use a coffee."

"Okay." He beamed and started the engine.

Daniel's apartment was roughly the same size as mine in area, but with only one bedroom, each of the rooms were bigger than mine. It was sparsely furnished with only the basics, but a clutter of paperwork, books, old copies of Aftonposten, and CDs were scattered about. I smiled as I looked around. It was so "him" even after only three days.

I opened the fridge to get milk as Daniel started making coffee, and found it empty except for beer, bread, and leftover takeaway, plus a couple of cartons of milk.

"Don't you cook for yourself?" I asked him.

"I haven't had the chance to buy groceries yet, but I can't really be bothered. It was worth it for the two of us."

"You should look after yourself better."

"The same could be said for you. What have you been eating since I moved out?"

"Not much," I admitted. "Monica brought me some sandwiches to the garage when she gave me a grilling about you."

Daniel snorted. "I'm glad she did. Give you a grilling, I mean."

"Me too."

We stood in the kitchen leaning against the counters while we drank our coffee. As easy as things had been since our conversation, now I felt nervous again. Would anything happen between us? I stared at Daniel and tried not to make it obvious as I took in every little detail. He was wearing the long-sleeved grey tee shirt he'd had on when he overdosed, with tight black jeans that looked new. A patterned scarf I hadn't seen before hung around his neck. He loved scarves and had at least a dozen that I knew of.

I put my empty mug down and tucked my thumbs into my belt loops. I didn't know what to do with myself. What I wanted, was to grab him and kiss him; to hold him against my body and repeat what we did a couple of weeks ago. I couldn't seem to make myself cross the kitchen to him and do that. It wasn't as if I feared rejection anymore or was unsure what I wanted. I was just nervous. The kissing and the groping would be easy enough, but what happened after that? What if he wanted to fuck? I wouldn't know where to start.

"Petter." Suddenly he was in front of me with his hands on my chest. "Stop worrying so much. Just kiss me."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Little bit." He smiled and leaned in to brush his lips across mine.

I kissed him back. His lips were soft, while the skin around them was rough from stubble. I slid my arms around him and pushed my tongue into his mouth. My anxiety evaporated as I held him against me, and I quickly began to get aroused. He moaned softly as I deepened the kiss, and his tongue stroked over mine as he pushed back, fighting me for dominance. He parted his legs and pressed one between mine so I could feel the hard ridge of his erection against my thigh. I groaned as my own hard-on nudged his leg. Thank God I didn't have my leathers on, which were a lot tighter than my jeans.

Daniel pulled back and kissed his way down the side of my neck. His lower body moved away from mine and I groaned in protest at the loss of contact, until he ran a hand down my chest to my crotch and palmed me firmly through my pants.

"Oh fuck," I muttered. I pulled his hand off me and he met my eyes.

"Sorry, don't you want—?"

"Let's not do this in the kitchen, okay?"

He smiled and led me into his bedroom. Once there, he tossed his scarf onto a chair in the corner and began unbuttoning his tee shirt, which had three or four buttons at the top. Then he pulled it free of his jeans and peeled it off over his head. I took my half-fastened shirt off and dropped it on the floor, then added the tee shirt I wore underneath to the pile.

Before Daniel could take anything else off, I drew him close to me again and kissed him. His chest was warm and smooth against mine. I stroked his back, exploring every inch of skin and caressing his shoulders. He groaned and squirmed against me, rubbing his groin against mine. His arms were around my neck, fingers combing through my hair and nails scratching my scalp. Goosebumps broke out on my skin and my spine quivered. I slid a hand between us and slowly unbuttoned his fly. My hand shook as I reached the last button, and my knuckles brushed his erection through his underwear. He broke the kiss with a groan.

I took my hands off him and unzipped my jeans. My dick ached and my briefs were damp. I hadn't been this turned on in a long time. My heart hammered and I breathed raggedly. I was desperate to feel his hands on me, but I didn't want it to be over in five minutes.

Daniel toed off his shoes and pushed his jeans down, then stepped out of them, leaving him in only plain grey boxer briefs which did nothing to disguise how hard he was. I stared as I bent to take off my boots and jeans. His gaze followed my hands as I undressed, then fixed on the bulge in my underwear. He moved close to me again and we both groaned as our groins rubbed against each other.

I lowered my head to kiss Daniel's neck and gently bit the skin there. He rolled his head back with a moan and clutched my shoulders. I wrapped an arm around his waist to support him as I bent forward and lowered him onto the mattress. A moment later I found myself lying between his legs. He touched my face and met my eyes. His pupils were huge, and his lips red and wet from my kisses. I smiled and gyrated my hips, grinding my erection against his.

"Fuck," he gasped.

"Tell me what you want. This is kind of new to me."

"Take your underwear off. I just want to touch you."

"All right." I was a little relieved as I pulled myself off him and shed the last garment. I wanted more but I was in unfamiliar territory. Daniel wriggled out of his underwear too and tossed them across the room. His erection slapped against his belly, the tip glistening with precome. I stayed upright, kneeling between his thighs, and wrapped my hand around him.

"Oh yes." He arched his back and pushed himself through my fist.

I grabbed my dick in my other hand and began stroking us both. Daniel writhed and whimpered, and his balls pulled up. I stopped touching myself so I could concentrate on him, delighted as I watched him fall apart.

"Oh fuck, Petter!" he cried out eventually as he shot his load across his chest and dribbled over my knuckles. I leaned down to smother his sounds with a kiss. He pushed me off, gasping. "Fuck." Eyes gleaming, he smiled up at me. "Now it's your turn."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter spends the night with Daniel at his new apartment

I lay down beside Daniel and he pulled himself up from his prone position, still breathless. He straddled me, knees either side of my hips, and the wet tip of his softening penis brushed my erection. He bent to kiss me and as our lips caressed, I rested my hands on his thighs. My dick throbbed and brushed against his belly, desperate to be touched. He seemed intent on making me wait as he slowly made his way down my body, kissing and licking every inch of my chest, and stroking my arms and shoulders. I didn't think I was in that great shape, with my six-pack mostly hidden under a little too much pizza and beer, and my muscles not quite as firm as they used to be when I was working out regularly. My weights were still in the bedroom I'd used at Monica's house. I needed to do something about that. At least I kept myself neat—I didn't have a lot of body hair, with only a sprinkle leading down the middle of my belly to my groin, and my pubic hair was cropped.

I groaned, yanked back into the present as Daniel's tongue reached my navel, and my erection slid against the side of his face. He chuckled softly and ran his hands down my thighs. He was still crouching over me, his knees now by my ankles. My legs quivered under his touch, and I sucked in a breath as finally, he paid some attention to my dick. He kissed the head, then ran his tongue down the vein on the underside of my shaft and sucked one of my balls into his mouth.

"Oh fuck," I muttered.

He licked and nibbled my flesh, then switched to the other side. After a few seconds he returned to my dick, and I swore again as his lips closed around the head. He stopped teasing me then, and began to suck firmly, while he jerked the base in one tight fist and squeezed my sac in the other. I clenched my fists at my sides and ground my teeth, trying to breathe slow and prolong things, but my orgasm was already creeping up on me. The hot, wet cavern of his mouth drew more of me in, while he sucked, licked, and gently scraped with his teeth.

"Daniel," I gasped. "You'd better… fuck, I'm… stop!"

He ignored me and I shot my load, while he continued sucking and swallowed around me. He pulled off me slowly and sat up, grinning. "Okay?"

"Fuck."

He slid off me and stretched out at my side. I pulled him closer and wrapped my arms around him. It felt so good holding him after we both came. I had never been much of a cuddler—maybe in the early days with Monica—but we'd both liked our own space in bed. Daniel seemed happy to sprawl all over me, and in fact had done before anything had happened between us. I smirked as I remembered waking up the first time we slept together and finding him draped over me. My arm had been trapped under him and I jerked away in shock, mainly because we'd both been hard, and I hadn't been comfortable with it then.

"What are you grinning at?" Daniel kissed my jaw.

"I was just remembering when we were in Malmo and I had to stay with you for twelve hours. You slept most of the time and eventually I needed some rest. Then I woke up and you were, sort of like this."

"I was pretty out of it. But I woke up once and kind of wished you'd wake up and kiss me."

"Even then?"

"Yeah. I didn't know anything about you, but I woke up and you were next to me in bed, so I wondered. But you shot away from me when you woke. I didn't think anything of it, except that you were straight and uninterested. But it was still nice having you there."

"I'd never have forgiven myself if you hadn't made it," I admitted. "It made me think about what I was doing. The Mobsters have always been dealers, at least since I joined them. It was all about making money and territories. There was this other gang—I don't know if I mentioned them before—the Delincuentas. We were always fighting with them over territory."

"With guns?"

"Yeah. Like I said, I never shot anyone, but I came close a couple of times. Some of the others have done it—had to, to protect their families. But then this Croatian family started making themselves known. They're small—only five of them, I think. They started taking over the market with cheaper drugs in larger quantities. That's why I was in Malmo. I didn't want to risk getting killed by one of them when I have Per and Oscar to think about, and Monica, too. Some of my guys still do it, but mostly outside the city."

"So, you stopped because of me?"

"Yes."

He smiled. "I'm glad. I'd be worrying that something would happen to you." He reached down and pulled the covers over us. "Are you going to stay with me tonight?"

"Yes, if you want me to."

"Good. I'll be back in a minute." He got up and left the room. I heard him in the bathroom, taking a piss and cleaning his teeth, then he turned off the lights and came back to bed. A moment later he was back in my arms.

When I woke it was daylight. I lay on my side with Daniel's back against my chest and my arm draped around him. I was hard and my erection rested in the crack of his arse. I grinned as I remembered the previous evening. It had been so good, and I no longer worried that he would wake up and tell me to get lost. I was still anxious about taking the next step, but he knew what he was doing. I wasn't averse to being told what to do.

"Are you awake?" he murmured.

"Yeah. Can't you tell?"

He chuckled. "Well, part of you is pretty obvious." He pressed himself harder against me and pushed my hand from his stomach to his erection. "You don't have to rush off, do you?"

"No. I have a couple of jobs to do at the bike shop, but I can go there later." I pulled away from him and went to the bathroom. It took a few minutes of rinsing out my mouth, washing my face, and dowsing my groin in cold water before my erection went down enough to piss. Then I went back to bed and Daniel took my place. He was gone a while. I heard water running and thought he must be taking a shower, so I closed my eyes and dozed until the bed dipped as he climbed back in. "What were you doing?"

"Never mind." He touched my face and slid closer. "Warm me up, I'm freezing."

I wrapped myself around him and kissed him. The feel of him against me quickly had me hard again, and he squirmed against me, his dick swelling.

"You warm yet?" I teased.

"Very." He met my eyes. "Do you want to fuck me, Petter?"

I quickly broke the eye contact and nuzzled his neck instead. "Yes, but I don't know what I'm doing."

"Don't worry about that. I do." He slid his hand between us and began stroking me, until I pushed him off after a few minutes.

"If you keep that up, I'll last about thirty seconds."

He grinned and rolled away from me, reached down off the side of the bed, and retrieved a bottle of something with a pump-action nozzle. I guessed it was lube. I expected him to instruct me, but he merely coated his fingers in the slick substance and slid his hand back under the covers.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Getting myself ready. Lube's important and it's been a while."

"Then tell me what to do," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I picked up the lube and squeezed some out onto two fingers the way he had done.

He moved and draped his leg over me. "Just use one finger. I'll tell you when to add the other one."

Nervously, I moved my had down to his arse and ran my thumb along the crack, exploring until I found the tight puckered spot of his anus. He whimpered and pressed his face into my neck. I replaced my thumb with a slick finger and carefully pushed the tip against him. It slid in easily and he groaned.

"Does it hurt?"

"No." He stroked my chest, and his erection twitched against me as I pressed my finger in deeper, as far as it would go. "In and out, like you're fucking me with it," he told me.

I did as he said, slowly at first, terrified I would do something wrong. I couldn't imagine having anything up my arse, but it was clearly pleasurable as Daniel moaned and rubbed his dick against me.

"More," he panted after a couple of minutes. I withdrew my finger and went back in with two. "Fuck," he muttered. "The way things are going, I'll come like this."

I grinned. "I must be doing something right." I'd almost forgotten about my own needs as I lubed him up and carefully stretched him.

"Fuck, I need your dick," he whispered after a minute. "Put this on." He held up a condom in front of my face.

"Great," I said before I could stop myself.

Daniel frowned. "I haven't been tested in a while. Nor have you, I suspect. I haven't done it bare since the professor."

"I'm not complaining," I said quickly, as I pulled my fingers out of him. "I just haven't used one since the early days with Monica."

Daniel smirked. "Oh, you want me to do it for you? You know, just in case you've forgotten how."

"Be my guest."

He took the packet and tore it open, threw back the bed covers, and rolled the rubber onto my dick in seconds. Then he squeezed out more lube and took his time coating me in it until I groaned in protest. "Stop that, or this will be the shortest fuck in history." I turned towards him, then paused. I had no idea about positions either. As far as I knew, I would do it from behind, but Daniel rolled onto his back and pulled his knees up.

"Like this. I want to be able to see you."

"Okay." I moved between his legs and supported my weight on my knees. The tip of my erection bumped against him, and he grasped it to guide it into him.

"Push in, only the head."

I pressed in carefully, and suddenly the head of my dick was squeezed tightly in the heat of his body. "God," I groaned.

Daniel smiled. "Feel good?"

"Fuck."

He rested his hands on my hips and pulled me in a little more. I caught a slight wince on his face and froze.

"It's fine. It's just been a while. I don't often fuck. With casual hook-ups I mostly just do other stuff."

"Shh." I covered his mouth with mine to stop him talking and thrust in with my tongue. After a minute I moved again, as slowly as I could manage although the feel of him made me want to drive myself deep and pound him into the mattress.

He slid his arms around me and melted into the kiss. He felt incredible. His mouth on mine, the tight heat of him squeezing and pulling at me as I slid into him more, his arms and legs around me, holding onto me. I broke the kiss to breathe and looked at his face instead. His eyes were closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks, his neck arched, and lips parted as he gasped his pleasure.

"You can go harder," he whispered. "I just needed to get used to you." I pulled back and drove myself in more firmly. He grunted and moaned. "Yes, like that."

Then I was fucking him, hard and fast, and silently cursing the fact that it was already almost over. My balls pulled up and heat crawled up my spine. I spilled into the condom, a little ashamed of blowing like a teenager on his first time. I propped up my upper body on one elbow and slid the other hand between us to stroke him off. He bucked into my hand, groaning as he quickly caught me up and clenched around me. Warm splashes of fluid painted my belly, and I was relieved he finished almost as fast as I had. I pinched the edge of the condom and slipped out of him. I disposed of the rubber, dropping it onto my discarded underwear to get rid of later. Then I collapsed onto my side next to Daniel. He rolled over to face me and opened his eyes.

I touched his hot damp face. "You okay?"

"Are you joking? That was fucking amazing."

"I wouldn't go that far." I grinned at him. "It lasted about three seconds."

He chuckled. "We just need more practise. A lot of practise. Every chance we get."

"I could go along with that." I relaxed; my unwarranted fears forgotten. Being with him was all I wanted. I should have known everything would be okay when it came down to it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accident at Ulrik's garage causes Petter to out himself to his homophobic friend

I didn't leave Daniel's apartment until the middle of the day. We couldn't tear ourselves away from each other, but eventually I had to get to the workshop to do the jobs I had planned, and Daniel dropped me off home to get my truck. I promised to call him that night when I finished.

Once I was alone, I couldn't stop thinking about him and the events of the night and early morning. I kept catching myself grinning like a fool or getting unwanted erections when I was trying to work. I felt like a kid, rather than a thirty-eight-year-old man.

That evening, I spent an hour on the phone with Daniel. I wanted to see him, but I intended to be at Monica's early the next morning to spend the day with the boys. We managed to find plenty to talk about on the phone for once, and it wasn't just Daniel doing the talking. He had things to do on Sunday so didn't plan to go to Monica's with me, but we arranged to see each other on Monday night. He would come over to my place.

I spent the morning playing football with the boys and helping Per with some Swedish and English homework. Monica didn't get the chance to give me the third degree until after lunch when I helped with the dishes.

"So? Spill," she said after closing the kitchen door.

Immediately, I went red. I could see myself in the mirrored back of a display cabinet she kept some fancy glassware in that had been a gift from her parents.

"Spill what?"

"Come on, Petter. You're as red as a tomato. You're together, I'm guessing?"

"Yes."

"At last. You two are hopeless."

"You know why. Daniel had a similar thing happen."

"The professor?"

"You know about that?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh yes. Me, he talks to. I probably know more about him than you do." She laughed. "Seriously, I'm pleased for you. Where is he today?"

"Avoiding getting grilled by you. No, he had things to do."

"Well, tell him I asked after him. Bring him over soon, okay?"

"Will do."

"I was talking to Sara yesterday," she said then. "Did you have words with Ulrik?"

"No." I frowned. "He called and asked if I wanted to go over for a drink. It was when I was planning to talk to Daniel. He said something insulting, then hung up."

"Okay. Sara didn't say anything much, only that she thought you were avoiding each other."

"I'm not. I just said I couldn't go over that night."

"Anyway, he wants some help at the garage. Can you call him? He's got some big job on. Something to do with an axle on a van, I think."

"Yes, okay," I agreed. Ulrik had a car repair shop, similar to my bike shop. It didn't do much business because he'd always used it as a cover for his dealing activities. However, we always helped each other out when we had jobs that required two people.

While I was at Monica's house, I dismantled my multi-gym and put it in the truck to take to my place. There was room for it my bedroom and I decided to set it up and start using it again. I needed to tone myself up.

I called Ulrik when I got home. "Monica said you have a job you need an extra pair of hands on?" I said when he answered his phone.

"Yeah, a van that's been in an accident." He explained what he needed. The van would be on his vehicle lift above the pit and he wanted a couple of hours of help to remove the rear axle.

"I can do it tomorrow morning, if you want." I offered.

"Sure, that'd be good. Thanks." He didn't refer to what he'd said to me the last time we spoke or mention Daniel. He just asked after the kids.

As soon as I hung up, I called Daniel for another lengthy chat. He promised to come over to Monica's with me the next weekend. In the meantime, he would spend Monday night with me. By the time I finished talking to him, I was hard again. I began thinking about the night we had spent together and jerked off as I remembered how good it had been. I couldn't wait to be with him again, and I reminded myself to attend the sexual health clinic as soon as I could to get tested. I wanted to feel him without the rubber.

The next morning, I went straight to Ulrik's garage. He was already there, working on the van he had told me about. I jumped down into the pit under the vehicle and began work on the axle. The vehicle shuddered a little and I paused, frowning.

"Is the lift secure?"

"It's fine," Ulrik grunted.

"I thought you were going to replace it." The lift was ancient, and I'd often wondered how it hadn't failed before now.

"I've got a new one on order."

"Right."

We continued and the lift groaned above us. I should have insisted we stop. He wasn't my President anymore. I was his after he stepped down. If he wanted to carry on alone, that would be up to him, but I kept on helping. The job was almost done.

We lifted the disconnected axle down and placed it in the bottom of the pit. As I straightened up, the sound of screeching metal hurt my ears. The van above us was moving, tilting precariously as the ramps it perched on came loose from one end of the lift.

"Petter, get down!" Ulrik yelled.

Something hit me on the head, and I dropped like a stone.

I opened my eyes with a groan. I lay on my back in the pit. My head felt like it was splitting, and something had dripped into my eyes and stung like hell. I rubbed a hand over them and squinted at my fingers in the dim light—blood.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. It shouldn't be so dark, but I realised quickly the ramp had collapsed, dropping the van partly into the pit above us. It was angled sideways, with the front driver's side wheel just above me. That could have been what knocked me out.

"Ulrik?"

A moan of pain came from nearby. I struggled to sit up and saw him sitting against the side of the pit with his arm stretched up, disappearing under the side of the van.

"I'm trapped," he said through his teeth. "Arm's crushed."

"Fuck. How long have I been out?"

"Only a minute." He indicated the phone in his hand. "I called Adam. He's rounding up the boys to lift this thing off us."

"Did you call an ambulance?"

"Um, no."

"Shit." I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and thankfully found it in one piece. As I waited for my call to be transferred to the right department, I had a better look at our predicament. Even if Ulrik's arm hadn't been pinned, we were both trapped beneath the van—it completely covered the pit's opening. Immediately, my heartrate accelerated, and I began to pant. I'd been afraid of small spaces ever since I was five years old and two thugs from school locked me in my parents' coal bunker. It had been two hours before my dad found me when he got home from work. I shuddered and ended the call. "Ambulance is on its way."

Two or more motorcycles pulled up outside, and I guessed the boys who lived nearest had arrived.

"Petter? Ulrik?" Adam's voice reached us and three pairs of running feet thundered into the garage.

"Under the van," I called back.

"Are you both okay?"

"Ulrik's arm is trapped. I got hit on the head, but I think I'm okay."

"The others will be here in a few minutes. Erik's bringing his truck with the hoist. Between us and that we'll be able to lift it." Adam's face appeared near a small gap under the side of the van. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." I sucked in a long breath and tried to let it out slowly. My chest was tight, and I'd begun to sweat. Ulrik moaned in pain and shifted his legs, trying to get more comfortable. More motorcycles arrived, followed by the sound of a large truck which I guessed was Erik's.

"We'll have this fucker off you in no time," Adam said.

"Wait!" Something in the back of my memory told me they shouldn't haul the van off us the way they planned.

"What, Petter? My fucking arm's killing me," Ulrik growled.

"We need to wait until the ambulance gets here. It's a crush injury, right? Monica used to watch this shit hospital TV show all the time, but I remember something like this happening. They couldn't get the trapped guy out quickly because he would have bled to death." The distant scream of a siren, gradually growing louder, could be heard. "They'll be here in a few minutes."

"He's right. I heard that, too," Erik said. "I'll get my truck in position but then we should wait. Has anybody called Sara? Or Monica?"

"No," Ulrik said.

I sat back against the side of the pit and tried to breathe. Ulrik's predicament had partially taken my mind off my own situation, but now it all came rushing back worse than before. I panted as if I'd been running and closed my eyes to try to shut out the view of the small space and the lack of exit.

Adam called Sara, then Monica. Even though Monica and I were divorced, she was still part of the Mobsters in as much as she was Sara's best friend, and mine. "They're on their way," he said after a minute. All I could think about was Daniel. If he were here, I knew I'd feel better, but if I called him, I'd out myself to the entire gang. Did I want to do that so early on in my relationship with him? Or at all?

The ambulance pulled up outside and I was saved from thinking for a few minutes by the paramedics asking questions and explaining that not moving the van had been the right thing to do. They needed to try to stabilise Ulrik before his arm was released. Given that they couldn't get into the pit, the only thing they could do was try to get a drip into his other arm if they could reach it. He moved around, moaning in pain, and stretched his other arm up through a narrow gap between the van and the pit wall.

One of the paramedics called for the fire service in order to move the van, but Adam interrupted. "We're here with lifting equipment. We can lift it rather than make them wait longer. We're used to doing this sort of shi— stuff."

"Petter, are you okay?" Ulrik asked suddenly. Ulrik, who was trapped and in agony, was concerned about me. I realised I was gasping and whimpering like a wounded animal and struggled to get control of myself.

"Fucking claustrophobia," I muttered. "Don't worry about it."

A car pulled up outside, followed by the sound of more running feet. "Petter?" Monica called.

"Ulrik!" Sara apparently went around the other side of the van and started talking to Ulrik.

Monica's face appeared in the gap near me. "Are you okay? You're bleeding!"

"Fuck!" Daniel said from behind her.

"Daniel's here, I called him," Monica whispered. "I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, it's okay." The hell with what the others thought. He was the one I wanted with me while I was making a fool of myself panicking. "I can't breathe," I added.

"Daniel, get down here," Monica said. "He has claustrophobia." She moved away and Daniel appeared, his face pale and anxious.

"Your head's bleeding," he said needlessly.

"I know, it hurts like hell but I'm okay. It's just the small space."

"Try to breathe slowly. You'll be out of here soon." He slid a hand through the gap, and I grasped it gratefully.

"Petter, what the hell?" Ulrik was clearly still capable of noticing and commenting.

"Don't you fucking say anything," I retorted.

"I should, um—" Daniel started to pull away from me.

"Stay there!" I squeezed his hand more firmly and took a deep breath. "I need you," I admitted.

"Jesus," Ulrik muttered.

"I got a line in," one of the paramedics said. "We have no choice but to get the van lifted as soon as possible. We'll be ready to attend to Ulrik's arm as soon as It's out of the way. Ladies, you'll need to stand back, please. And you—?" Apparently, the paramedic was speaking to Daniel.

"I'm staying here," he said.

"You have to move. We don't want additional injuries."

"He's fine there," Adam put in. "If, God forbid, it falls, it won't go that way. Just move your arm. Daniel, right?"

"Yes." Daniel squeezed my hand and let go, but he stayed where he was so I could see him.

Various clunks and other sounds above me indicated the lifting chains were being attached to the van. I kept my gaze fixed on Daniel's face and breathed. I felt better and I reminded myself I wasn't really trapped, and I wasn't alone. It was just a matter of time before I'd be out of here, crushing the life out of Daniel in my arms.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter is released from hospital after only one night. When Ulrik is released and the pair meet, Petter is faced with Ulrik's bigotry

It seemed an age before the van was finally lifted away, although it could only have been a few minutes. As soon as Erik's hoist moved it safely away guided by various Mobsters, the paramedics dropped into the pit to attend to Ulrik and I scrambled out. Daniel glanced around at the guys, but I ignored them and wrapped my arms around him. My panicked breathing settled immediately, and the rush of adrenaline that had kept me going left me also. Suddenly I was weak and shaking, and the pain in my head increased.

"Shit, sit down." Daniel held onto me as I sank onto the concrete and Monica rushed to my side. I caught a glimpse of their anxious faces before my peripheral vision disappeared and I found myself looking down a darkening tunnel. I was aware of Daniel sitting down and guiding my head into his lap, before everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, bright light almost blinded me, and I blinked rapidly. I made out two blurry faces and tried to focus.

"Petter, can you hear me?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

I blinked again and recognised the green jacket of a paramedic. A hand was gripping mine and I glanced at it, then followed the arm up to the face of the owner—Daniel.

"Petter?" the paramedic prompted.

"Yes."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Ambulance."

"Who's your friend?"

"Daniel."

"What day is it?"

"I don't fucking know," I grumbled.

The paramedic frowned. "What were you doing?"

"Fixing a van with Ulrik." I winced at my throbbing head. "Is Ulrik okay? Can they save his arm?"

"Nothing wrong with your awareness or memory," the paramedic said in relief. "You'll probably have a concussion and you've lost some blood. Ulrik's in the other ambulance. He's getting the best care."

"They sent a second ambulance for you," Daniel explained. "You passed out when you got out of the pit."

"I'll have some explaining to do as well," I remembered. All of the Mobsters present at the time would now know something was going on between Daniel and me. "Oh well, I suppose it had to come out sooner or later."

Daniel chuckled. "Nice pun."

I laughed, then moaned in pain. "Stop making my laugh. My head hurts. Oh fuck." I pulled my hand free of his and groped towards the paramedic. "Feel sick."

He helped me roll sideways and put a bowl under my mouth as I started throwing up. When it was over, I felt worse than before. I closed my eyes, wishing I could go to sleep until it stopped hurting, but the paramedic kept prompting me with questions and telling me I had to stay awake.

The journey seemed endless. Eventually, the folding trolley I lay on was pulled out of the ambulance onto its wheels. Daniel walked at my side as the paramedics wheeled me into the hospital and handed me over to a nurse. What followed was more questions, a light shining in my eyes, then I was sent off for a scan leaving Daniel behind. Through it all I was conscious and longing for sleep.

At last, I was returned to a cubicle and the drip I was hooked up to was replaced with a fresh one. There wasn't a bag of blood with it and I assumed I hadn't lost enough to need a transfusion. Daniel was there again, sitting beside the bed.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" I asked him.

"Not when you're here."

"When are they letting me out? Have they said?"

"Not today. Maybe tomorrow if the signs are good. You have a nasty concussion."

"Aren't they supposed to tell me that?"

"They did, but you were drifting in and out."

"Where's Monica?"

"In the waiting room with the guy who had the truck with the hoist. Erik? Shall I get them?"

"Okay."

While he was gone, I touched my head and found a thick dressing stuck to my temple. I didn't know what the damage was, but I'd probably have a nice scar as a souvenir. Monica and Erik appeared a minute later.

"Daniel's gone to get coffee," Monica said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I split my head open."

"Did they say how bad it is?"

"Yes, but I missed it. Daniel said I have a bad concussion and they're keeping me in overnight."

"It can't be that bad. You're making sense. Or as much sense as you're capable of making," Monica teased.

"Thanks."

"I'm going now. I left Oscar with Mrs Svensson next door. Daniel said he'd let me know how you are later."

"Okay."

She left, and I glanced at Erik. "Go on, then. Say what you have to say."

"What are you talking about?"

I rolled my eyes and winced, wishing I hadn't. "Daniel."

"What about him? He seems like a nice guy. He's that journalist that used to work for Aftonposten, isn't he?"

"That's all?" I said in surprise.

"Well, what do you want me to say? Apparently, you like guys as well as women. I don't give a shit. Most of the others don't either."

"Most?"

"They're surprised, after you were with Monica for so many years and nobody had any clue, but mostly they're cool."

"Okay. That's good. Ulrik's another matter."

"Don't worry about him. If he expresses his opinion to any of us, he'll get shut down. How'd you meet him, anyway?"

"Who?"

"Daniel."

"It was when I was in Malmo that time. It was kind of like this." I gestured around me. "Only our positions were reversed. He took some of my pills and collapsed. I helped him and went to the hospital with him."

Erik grinned. "Did he move here for you?"

"No, he lost his job and that serial killer in Malmo was after him, so he needed to get out of the city."

Erik's eyes widened. "Shit. I remember seeing him on the news talking about it."

Daniel appeared then with a paper cup of coffee. "Talking about me?"

"Maybe." I smiled.

"Sorry, I didn't get you one," he said to Erik. "I can get another if you want this one."

"No, I'm good, thanks. I need to get going." He offered his hand to Daniel and they shook. "I'll catch up with you some other time."

Erik left, and Daniel sat on the single chair beside the bed and sipped his coffee. He talked and I drifted, only half-listening. After a couple of hours, I was moved to a bed in a ward.

"You don't have to stay," I told Daniel. "I just want to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure you have better things to do than sit there watching me sleep. I'll call you tonight if I'm awake. Do you know where my stuff is?" I was wearing a blue cotton hospital gown.

"It's in the cupboard here, next to the bed." Daniel looked through my things and found my phone. He put it under my pillow, gave me a kiss, and left me to sleep.

The next thing I knew, it was morning. My head hurt, but not half as much as it had the day before. I checked my phone and found a couple of texts from Daniel, the second one saying he assumed I was sleeping, but he'd called the hospital and checked I was okay. I sent him a message to let him know I was awake and that I'd call him as soon as I could.

An hour later, breakfast was brought to the patients that were able to have food and I was relieved when they brought me coffee and toast. I was starving, but the couple of slices of limp toast and butter barely touched the pangs of hunger. I waited impatiently for a doctor to come to see me and called both Daniel and Monica to pass the time. Monica told me she'd been in touch with Sara and that Ulrik's arm had been saved, but it would be a long time before he could use it properly again.

When the doctor and a nurse finally arrived at my bedside, they checked me over, asked some questions, and agreed I could go home as soon as someone could collect me. I called Monica. She would have already taken Per to school and Oscar to nursery. When I'd talked to Daniel, he'd been in his office getting an early start to make up for leaving early the day before, so I didn't want to bother him. Monica collected me within half an hour and took me to my apartment. My truck was parked outside, and its keys had been dropped through my letterbox.

"Adam and Erik dropped it off," Monica said.

I sent Daniel a text to tell him I was home, and he planned to pick up food and come straight over when he finished work. Monica fetched groceries and made me some lunch, then kept me company while I tried to watch TV and dozed. The pair of them had arranged for one of them to be with me all the time for the next couple of days, just in case.

"I don't need babysitting," I grumbled at one point.

"Too bad." Monica just smiled.

"Don't you have to pick up the kids?"

"Sara's fetching ours and theirs together and making their dinner. I'm picking them up after Daniel gets here."

An hour later, Daniel arrived. Monica met him in the hall as she got ready to leave.

"How is he?" Daniel asked.

"Grumpy. Good luck."

They both laughed. Daniel appeared with Chinese food and we ate, mostly in silence. After he cleared away the remains, he snuggled up to me on the couch.

"How are you feeling, really?"

"Bored, and I need a shower, but I have to keep the dressing dry."

"Want some help?"

"Yeah, that would be good."

My shower was just big enough for two to squeeze into it. Daniel unhooked the showerhead to wet me down without the water pouring onto my head, then lathered me up with shower gel and carefully washed my hair, none of which was close to the dressing. I leaned against the tiled wall, surprised by how weak and tired I felt, and the fact that my dick didn't even twitch when he washed it. I didn't care that it was only seven o'clock. I went to bed and fell asleep the minute my head hit the pillow.

The next day Monica came over after breakfast so that Daniel could go to work. She changed the dressing on my head and said it looked as if it were healing well. Adam and Erik both came to see me, and a couple of other Mobsters came over later in the day.

Daniel returned in the early evening with a bag of his things and stayed the night again. I felt much better, and the following day things were almost back to normal. We jerked each other off before he went to work, and when Monica arrived, I had her drive me to the workshop so I could do some work, with the help of Erik. He told me Ulrik was out of hospital although he wouldn't be able to work for quite a while. Some of the Mobsters who had spare time were going to help keep his garage going so he could still accept a few jobs. On Saturday when I was finally able to drive again, I went over to see him. He was alone at his garage, changing the tyres on a truck. Operating the tyre machine could mostly be done with one hand although moving the wheels around would be difficult.

"Hey. You want some help?" I asked.

"Thanks," he grunted, not looking at me.

Half an hour later, all the tyres were done, and I began putting the wheels back on the jacked-up truck. "How'd you get them off with your arm strapped up?" I asked.

"I'm not helpless," he responded angrily.

"What are you so pissed about?"

"We're losing money while I can't work properly."

I nodded. The broken vehicle lift was still above the pit although the damaged van had been removed. "When's the new lift coming?"

"I cancelled it. Can't afford it just now."

"Right." I scowled as I continued fitting the wheels on the truck. He hadn't even apologised for the lift collapsing and injuring me, when it hadn't been safe to operate. "Do you have a problem with me?"

There was a long silence. I straightened up and stared at him, but he wouldn't look at me. "How can you spend years with Monica, and then suddenly be a homo?" he said through his teeth.

I winced at the expression. "I'm not."

"No? So, what does fucking another guy make you, then?"

My face heated in discomfort and annoyance. I'd expected this. I knew his opinion and I didn't expect him to keep quiet about it, but his choice of words pissed me off.

"I guess I'm bi," I said reluctantly.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I like both."

"Since when? You've never shown any interest in guys before."

"You barely knew me before I met Monica. I'm not going into any details. It's my business. If you don't like it, then you'll have to either ignore it or keep your distance from me."

"You need a night out with the boys; a chance to meet a new woman." Ulrik looked at me at last, his brow furrowed, and his mouth twisted.

"That won't happen. I'm in a relationship. I never so much as looked at anyone else when I was with Monica. I don't plan to start looking elsewhere now I'm with Daniel."

"Fuck," Ulrik muttered and shook his head.

"I'll leave you to it, then," I said. "I'm not talking about this anymore. But remember who you're talking to with your bigoted insults. It was your choice to step down as leader, and your recommendation that I step up. I've never used that privilege with you, but now I'm telling you—keep your fucking mouth shut if you can't respect me and my partner."

As I walked out, Adam and Erik walked in. I hadn't heard Adam's truck pull up and I wondered how long they'd been there listening. I nodded at them and stomped around the side of the building to where my own truck was parked. But then I paused and turned around. I wouldn't put it past them to say something to Ulrik if they'd heard our conversation, and it wasn't their place. I decided to listen and see what happened.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petter deals with Ulrik's homophobia, and realises how he feels about Daniel

"Hey, guys," I heard Ulrik say.

"Hey," Adam responded. "You have a problem with who Petter's seeing?"

"What do you know about what I think of it?" Ulrik grunted.

"We heard what you said to him," Erik said.

"So, you eavesdropped like a fucking pair of spies?" Ulrik barked. "If it bothered you that much, why didn't you come forward and say something?"

"Because Petter wouldn't have appreciated us butting in. He was handling it fine, but he shouldn't have to, should he?" Adam said calmly.

"Bigots like you belong in the dark ages," Erik added. "Petter's our president, and a damn fine one. Better than you were. Maybe you should remember that before you insult him in the future, like he said."

"Speaking for the rest of the Mobsters, are you?" Ulrik sneered.

"Not officially but all of those who came to help you and Petter when your fucking decrepit lift nearly the killed the two of you, agree with us. If the others haven't found out yet, they soon will. Petter doesn't seem ashamed to be seen with Daniel, and nor should he. So, if anyone else voices an opinion like yours, they'll be coughing up teeth a minute later." Adam lost his cool, his voice growing louder.

"Is that a threat?" Ulrik demanded.

"I wouldn't threaten you because you were once my leader and I still respect you, but I won't keep my mouth shut if I hear any more of your bullshit. I'm Petter's second and if I have to silence any of the others, I'll do it by whatever means necessary."

I shook my head. Things were getting out of hand. It wasn't Adam's job to put Ulrik in his place, but I supposed I could understand. Both he and Erik were loyal guys—that was the reason I'd picked Adam to be my second.

"All right, guys, that's enough." I stepped into view. They turned to look at me and all three faces turned red. "Adam, Erik, I appreciate your words and support. I assume you came here to help with the garage but go about your business now. Maybe come back tomorrow. I'm sure Ulrik could use some help getting rid of that broken lift." The pair nodded at me and walked away. I took a step closer to Ulrik. "Do you want to say anything else to my face?"

He huffed out a sigh and stared at the ground.

"I didn't intend to say anymore on this subject, but it seems I must when my boys feel they have to speak with you about it." I emphasised the word "my," then continued before he could reply. "I thought we were friends. Fifteen years, isn't it? You were my best man. I was yours. So, my life took a different turn—one that you don't appreciate. Does that mean you're going to turn your back on me?"

Ulrik sighed again and shook his head. "No. Of course it doesn't."

"How do we get past this, then? If every time you look at me, you see some dirty faggot that you can't stomach."

He jerked his head up, eyes wide. "I don't—fuck. Okay, yes, I've thought that and said similar. I don't understand it. I just can't see you with—" He coughed. "He's, um, well—"

"He's what?" I glared.

"Not like us."

"If everyone was, the world would be a pretty boring place."

"Well, I meant—" Ulrik shrugged his uninjured shoulder and shook his head.

"I know what you meant."

He huffed and straightened up. "I'm sorry," he said grudgingly. "It'll take some time to get my head around."

I tried to put myself in his shoes. I imagined him divorced from Sara and outing himself with a well-known guy from out of town in front of half the gang. What would I think? Nothing bad, but I'd be shocked as hell, just because there had been no hint that he might be that way inclined. He didn't know anything about Torgny—I met Ulrik and some of the other Mobsters a few years after the last time I saw my old friend. None of them would have had a clue I could be attracted to a man so I could appreciate them being stunned by the revelation.

"Okay." I relaxed. "I suppose I get where you're coming from in that you're surprised by this. I'm not expecting you to invite me for dinner with Daniel, like you used to when I was with Monica. But I don't welcome your sneering and insults, and if you see Daniel, at least be civil to him. And to me."

Ulrik nodded. "That's fair." He cleared his throat. "I apologise. You were right earlier. You're our president—my president. I'm sure you can imagine what I would have done to you or anyone else who talked shit to me when I was leader."

"Yeah."

"Give me some time, Petter." He offered his left hand to me. "Sorry, can't shake with this one." He eyed his injured arm ruefully.

I stared at the offered hand for a moment. He apologised at least. I supposed I could accept it and give him another chance. He would have done the same with me. Maybe. I put my left hand in his and shook. "I'll be seeing you. I'll give it a bit of time."

"All right." He nodded again. I went back to my truck.

When I got home, Daniel was in my kitchen cooking something. I'd given him his old key back the first night he stayed with me, so he could come and go when he wanted to. Now, I wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed his neck as he stirred a pot of something that smelled of garlic and spices. An empty jar of supermarket chilli sauce stood by the sink. He grinned and turned his head to kiss my cheek. "How are you?"

"Better now." I pressed my face into his hair and breathed in. "You smell good."

"You smell of old rubber."

I laughed. "I helped Ulrik change some tyres."

"How was he?"

I released him and stepped away to lean against the kitchen counter. "He was a dick. We had words, which Adam and Erik overheard. When I left, they went in there to put Ulrik in his place. Not their job to do that, I might add, but there we are. I sent them home and finished it."

Daniel's eyes widened in alarm. "Finished it how?"

"Just talked. He's going to find it hard to get his head around. He doesn't understand how I could be married to Monica for ten years and then want to be with a guy. He doesn't know about Torgny, obviously."

"I'm sorry." Daniel turned the heat on the stove down and hung his head.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I could have been less obvious. I was just so scared. Monica said a lift fell on you and you had a head injury. I was imagining you with brain damage, or dead."

"It doesn't matter." I pulled him close to me again. "Come on. I'm not going anywhere. With you is where I want to be, so they would have found out sooner or later. Most of the others don't care according to Adam and Erik. Ulrik needed reminding who his leader is and that a bit of respect wouldn't go amiss." I smirked as I remembered what I'd said to Ulrik. A couple of years ago, I never would have dared to speak to him like that.

Daniel slid his arms around my neck. "I love you," he said, then kissed me on the lips before I could reply.

He loved me? I kissed him back while I thought this over. It hadn't been very long. We'd been together for about five minutes, but he'd lived with me in my place for a while before anything happened between us. Apparently, he developed feelings for me during that time, so it was no surprise he'd been anxious about getting hurt. Even though he thought nothing would happen, he must have been dreaming about it and falling for me regardless.

He broke the kiss and met my eyes. "Sorry. Too soon?"

"No." I shook my head. "Just give me a little time to catch up, okay? I will."

"Don't feel pressured. I didn't mean to say it."

"You didn't mean it?"

"Yes, but I—" He laughed and shook his head. "If something's on my mind, a lot of the time I blurt it out."

"I've noticed that. Did you love the professor?"

"I think that was more like hero-worship, when I look back on it. I was a kid. He was your age."

"Are you saying I'm old?" I made myself frown, although I struggled not to smirk.

"You're older than me."

"Yeah, by about six years." I clenched my fist and gently bumped his jaw with my knuckles. "Don't test me, boy."

We both laughed, and Daniel kissed me again. His lips parted and he responded warmly. I pulled him closer, but he moved away and turned back to the stove. "You'll get burnt dinner if you keep that up."

"Damn. I'll clean up in the bathroom and get rid of the old rubber smell. Since you got me all worked up—" I gestured at my crotch. "—I might have to relieve the pressure while I'm in there."

"You fucker!" Daniel cried.

I grinned and headed for the bathroom. I was tempted. I was rock hard by the time I got my clothes off. I hadn't felt like this in a long time—aroused and excited at the drop of a hat. Daniel could probably do nothing more than smile at me and I'd be ready. I grasped my erection and stroked it a few times, but I had no intention of spoiling things for later. Reluctantly, I stopped touching myself and gave myself a quick wash instead. I wandered back to the kitchen in just a towel to tease him a bit more.

Predictably, his gaze wandered all over me and lingered on the towel. I wasn't hard any longer. He met my eyes again. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"You know what I mean."

I grinned. "Why don't you spell it out? The head injury seems to have affected my memory after all."

"Did you jerk off?" he demanded.

"Well, I was so hard—" I began. Then I just laughed. This was so unlike me. I wasn't flirty or sexy—never had been. "Of course I didn't. You think I want to waste it when I've got you right here?"

Daniel grinned. "Wait until you see what I have in store for you later. Teasing me doesn't go unpunished."

"I hope that's a promise."

A few hours later, I lay in bed beside him listening to his soft snores. He had tormented me as promised, with hands and mouth, refusing to let me come until I begged. Then I fucked him. Now, I was only half asleep as I thought about what he'd said to me. Things seemed to have happened so fast, but I was only comparing it to my relationship with Monica which I shouldn't do. We'd dated for about six months before she said she loved me, and I reluctantly responded, all shy and embarrassed because she was my first proper girlfriend. But hadn't we both felt that long before either of us said it? She'd admitted one time, maybe a year after that, she knew how she felt within a week or two, but she thought she'd scare me away if she said so. I had felt the same way, but of course, hadn't dared say so in case—what? She didn't feel the same? She laughed? I scared her off?

I rolled over to look at Daniel in the semi-darkness as he slept. He was facing me, lips slightly parted as he breathed, slow and deep. I knew how I felt. It wasn't too soon, like he'd said. I would do anything for him. He was more important to me than anyone, except for my kids. I hadn't thought twice about it when I fell into his arms in front of seven or eight Mobsters when I got out of Ulrik's pit, and I didn't give a shit what they thought, although I supposed I was lucky if what Adam and Erik said was true. None of them seemed to care except for Ulrik.

"I love you," I whispered.

Daniel moved a little and I wondered if he'd heard me. Perhaps he hadn't been so deeply asleep as I thought. He grunted softly and licked his lips, then opened his eyes and met mine. "Did you say something?"

"Didn't you hear me?" My heart began to pound.

"No, something woke me though."

I touched his face and stroked my thumb over the bristles coming through on his jaw. "I said I love you."

He gasped and his eyes widened. For a moment, he stared into my eyes. Then he wrapped an arm around my neck and pressed his lips to mine. I hugged him tightly and melted into his kiss. At that moment, nothing else mattered. I was exactly where I wanted to be.


End file.
